The Grey Wizard and The Dragon Rider
by Time Lord Consultant
Summary: Soon after leaving Bilbo Baggins at the border of the Shire, Gandalf the Grey is transported to another world. There he meets Eragon, Murtagh, and Saphira, on their quest to the Varden. Gandalf joins them, hoping to find some way back home. How will the story go now? And, who sent him here? Was this the Valar, or the machinations of Sauron?
1. Unlikely Meetings

An Unlikely Meeting

"_Ah," sighed Gandalf. "The borders of the Shire. It is here I must leave you." He stopped where he was, while Bilbo walked a while longer, before stopping and turning around._

"_Oh," he said. He walked back to where Gandalf was. "That's a shame. I quite liked having a wizard around. They seem to bring good luck." He smiled at Gandalf. To his confusion, Gandalf did not return the smile._

"_You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were all managed by mere luck?" asked Gandalf. Bilbo began to frown, wondering where this was headed. He soon found out. "Magic rings should not be used lightly, Bilbo." Bilbo opened his mouth to protest but to no avail. "Don't take me for a fool, I know you found one in the Goblin tunnels, and I've been keeping my eye on you ever since."_

_Bilbo closed his mouth and nodded. "Well, thank goodness.," he said, smiling again. He positioned his bag so it wouldn't fall, and stuck out his hand. "Farewell, Gandalf." He looked up at Gandalf._

"_Farewell," said Gandalf in return, shaking Bilbo's hand. He watched, as Bilbo turned and left, before stopping and turning once more._

"_You know," began Bilbo. "You needn't worry about that ring anymore, Gandalf. It fell out of my pocket during the battle."_

_Gandalf looked at him, knowing full well that Bilbo was lying. "You're a fine person, Mr. Baggins," said Gandalf. "And I'm very fond of you. But you're only quite a little fellow," he raised his eyebrows, "in a wide world, after all." And with that, he turned around and walked to the nearby ponies._

It took Gandalf a few weeks to return the ponies to Beorn. He stopped by Imladris, and gave the treasures he got from the Troll burrow to Elrond. There was a good deal that was of Elven make, from the First and Second age. Elrond was quite pleased to see them. He stayed for a night, and was off again, directly to Beorn this time. From there, he walked, heading to the nearest village or town that had an inn. However, it seemed fate had other ideas for him.

As he wandered, Gandalf had a sudden feeling come about him. The air shimmered around. The ground shifted beneath his feet. Gandalf tried to move, but was stuck in position, like a statue. For the first time in a long while, Gandalf felt truly helpless. Had the Enemy devised some way, before he was driven out of Dol Guldur, to trap Gandalf, should he be driven out? Gandalf, frozen, began to panic. He could not think of any spell to counter this, nor could he simply break free. He began to fear the worst when, to his great relief, the air before him cleared. However, before Gandalf had a chance to feel any great relief, he noticed the difference. Instead of mountains, grass, and trees before him, there lay naught but an empty desert, and behind him too. Barren. Desolate. These words flew through the mind of Gandalf, before he saw that it was not entirely so.

Far ahead was a circle of people on horses. They looked ragged; their weapons were rusted. They were surrounding two people, and their horses. Gandalf was immediately suspicious. No good came from such encounters. Gandalf hurried closer. As he neared them, he could make out more of them. There was a man, mostly hidden from view by the other riders, who was talking to the two men, as he now saw. He wagered this was their leader. The leader finished talking for a moment, and the men chuckled. Gandalf could see now that some men held bows, ready to fire. Now, he felt he could guess what these men were. One man snuck up behind the two men and lifted a blanket. Gandalf furrowed his brow. Even from where he was, with his view obstructed, he could see that it was an Elf. The man called to the leader, Torkenbrand, unless Gandalf heard incorrectly. What their leader said in reply confirmed Gandalf's guess.

_Slavers_, Gandalf guess was confirmed. He was only a few meters, maybe ten, no more, behind them. He cleared his throat so that their attention could be on him. He hid a smile, as all the heads turned suddenly to him. 'Ah, hello,' he began, slowly. 'I don't suppose any of you could tell me where I am? I happen to have gotten terribly lost.' The men all looked at him, confused. The leader, Torkenbrand was his name, Gandalf remembered, moved his horse to take a look at him.

'Humph.' His voice was hoarse. He looked down on Gandalf in disdain. 'Looks like he'd break trying to move a cart. But what's with the pointy hat? You some sort of wizard?'

'Well, I suppose you could say so.' Gandalf looked up at the man, a model of innocence. He looked over to where the two men stood. In the brief glimpse he had, he could see they were ready for battle. There was something strange about the man with brown hairs hand. He returned his attention to the ignorant slaver leader. 'Most of the Race of Men call me a Wizard. So, I suppose you could, too.' The man snorted.

'Whatever.' He waved his mace towards Gandalf. 'Lay down your sword, and we'll kill you quickly. Resist?' He chuckled rather evilly at that. 'And you'll end up wandering this desert with a hole in your arm. Your choice.' Gandalf simply smiled up at him.

'You know,' he began, a hint of humor permeating his voice. 'I rather think I like my chances resisting.'

'Your choice- argh!' The arrogant leader never got to finish his sentence. In an instance, a bright flash appeared from the tip of Gandalf's staff, blinding the slaver, who fell off his horse, trying to shield his eyes. Not even a moment later, the man with black hair spurred his warhorse into action. It spun around and struck the dismounted slaver. The man fell, screaming. Chaos soon ensued. A nearby slaver moved towards Gandalf. Gandalf stepped to the side as the rider passed, missing his javelin. He swiftly took out Glamdring, and in the same movement cut through the slaver. But soon, the battle was halted.

Words were spoken. They were heavy with power. Gandalf turned to the source of the words. It was the boy with brown hair. He held up his hands, and there formed a globule of fire, indigo in color. It struck a slaver, and burst asunder, like a molten fountain. Gandalf's curiosity piqued. It was soon forgotten when Gandalf heard a sound, which quaked him to the bones. A dragon, blue and terrible, was flying towards them at great speeds. Gandalf felt despair, for the second time in a few minutes.

The dragon roared, and the slavers screamed, and cowered. They turned to run. But too late. The dragon snatched some in its talons. Gandalf prepared to fight the beast himself. Then something of great curiosity happened. The boy with brown hair stood on a hill, with his sword as red as blood unsheathed, bellowed to the slavers.

'Behold!' he cried. 'I am a Rider!' He lifted his blade. 'Flee! If you wish to live.' And the slavers all turned and ran. All forsaking their leader, who had injured himself in the fall. But any concern about him could wait. The dragon had landed nearby. Gandalf looked towards it, fearfully, but determined to give the two boys as much of chance of escape as possible. In his despair and weariness, Gandalf did not notice the horses.

Gandalf leapt forth with a cry, standing between the two boys and the beast. 'Get back!' he ordered them. 'Get on your horses and run!' At that moment, Gandalf seemed to grow. He began to speak before the boy who had shot fire from his hands leapt between him and the dragon. Gandalf looked down, confused. 'Did you not hear me? Run!' he ordered once more. But the boy stood firm.

'Wait!' he yelled to Gandalf, holding out his hands. 'She's on our side.' Gandalf seemed to grow back to his original size.

'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'What exactly do you mean our side?'

'Well, just that, I suppose.'

'And just which side would that be?' questioned Gandalf. If these people were in league with dragons, then he may very well be in greater danger than he thought.

'We're headed to the Varden,' said the boy. 'We hope to seek refuge there, and hopefully, join the war.'

'And what war might that be?' interrogated Gandalf. Gandalf needed more information about the current state of affairs in whatever place he was, and a war explained it quite clearly.

'The war between the Varden and the Empire, of course!' he spat the latter name. 'You do know about the Varden and the Empire, do you not?' he added.

'I most certainly do not,' replied Gandalf.

'Where have you been living? Under a rock?' asked a voice behind him, almost mockingly. It belonged to the boy on the horse, with black hair. Gandalf spun around to greet him.

'No,' he answered. 'But I'm certainly not from nearby,' he added, warily. He looked towards the sun. It was going down. He sighed, and moved towards what was the campsite, so as to face all three at once. They were telling the truth, about heading to this "Varden", and that there was a war going on. And they seemed innocent. There was no malice in their eyes. Protectiveness in the eyes of the boy standing between him and the dragon, and suspicion in the eyes of the boy on the horse. But no malice. Even the dragon bore no malice, though it looked ever ready to attack. He looked at the three of them, and sighed. 'I think we should all stop, and wait a moment to catch our wits.' He looked at the two of them, and they looked at each other. Then the one with brown hair spoke.

'First, put away your sword,' he demanded. Gandalf tightened his grip. He was loath to lower his defences in the presence of a dragon.

'Give me your word that the dragon will not attack, and I shall,' he answered.

'I give you my word that she won't attack,' came the reply, somewhat strained. Gandalf reluctantly sheathed his sword. The tension in the air dissipated, somewhat. 'Now, what is your name, may I ask?' asked the boy.

'I am known by many names,' replied Gandalf. 'But most call me Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. And you two are?'

'I am Eragon, son of none,' answered the boy with brown hair, putting his sword away. 'And this is Murtagh.' He gestured to the boy on the horse. 'And this,' he turned and gestured to the dragon behind him, 'is Saphira.' Gandalf was confused by the familiarity he displayed with the dragon. 'Now, tell us, how do you not the Empire? The Varden, I can slightly understand, but the Empire?'

Gandalf sighed. 'I think we should sit down,' he suggested. The two boys looked at each other and nodded. Murtagh sheathed his blade, and came near to him. They all sat, cross legged in a triangle. Saphira lay next to Eragon. Gandalf placed his staff next to him, lying down. 'Now, in order to answer your question, you shall first have to answer some of mine.' The boys nodded their ascent. 'Good. My first question is: what is the name of this land?'

Eragon looked confused, but answered anyway. 'This is the Hadarac Desert.' Gandalf was confused even more; he had not heard that name before.

'Thank you, but I meant as a whole. What is the Hadarac Desert a part of?' Gandalf clarified. Eragon and Murtagh looked at each other, bewildered.

'I… Alagaësia,' Eragon again replied.

Gandalf looked into his lap. Things were finally making enough sense. Then he looked up again. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Now, to answer your question, I have never heard of this Empire of yours because I have never been to these lands. Alagaësia, that is.' Eragon and Murtagh looked at each other in shock, and disbelief. Surely this old man was mad! Even the dragon, Saphira, reared her head in disbelief.

'What do you mean, you've never been to Alagaësia? How'd you get here then?' asked Murtagh, almost shouting. Gandalf raised a hand to calm him.

'I mean exactly what I have said. I have never been to the land known as Alagaësia before. Nor have I ever heard of it. And to answer your second question: I don't know, and I would very much like to know who sent me here and why.'

'Alright,' spoke Eragon. 'Assuming you're telling the truth, where did you come from, then?' This was more a question to satisfy his curiosity, than anything else.

'I come from a land known as Middle-Earth,' answered Gandalf. He looked down. 'I was sent thither, in order to aid the Free People in their fight against the evil known as Sauron. Just a few weeks ago, I learnt he was resurfacing, in an old fortress of his. His was driven out, but now I need to prepare for war. But here I am, in a different world, indeed, a different universe, unable to do the work I must.'

Eragon and Murtagh, once again, looked at each other in confusion. Saphira, on the other hand, seemed to be wondering the full meaning of these words. There was a silence. But before they could say anything, Gandalf spoke up again.

'But now,' he said, forgetting his sorrow, 'tell me your tale. Who is this Varden, who is the Empire, why are two young men wandering a desert with an unconscious Elf, and why I should not be afraid of the dragon, Saphira.'

Eragon opened his mouth to talk, but before he could, Saphira growled. They all turned to where she was looking, and saw the slaver, Torkenbrand, try to crawl away. Murtagh stood up, and walked over, unsheathed his sword, and in a single, fell swoop, lopped of his head. Eragon stood up, enraged.

'Is your brain rotten?' he yelled. 'Why did you kill him?'

Murtagh wiped his sword on the back of Torkenbrand's jerkin. The steel left a dark stain. 'I don't see why you're so upset—'

'Upset?' exploded Eragon. 'I'm well past that! Did it even occur to you that we could've just left him here and continue on our way? No! instead you turn into an executioner and chop off his head. He was defenceless!'

Murtagh seemed perplexed by Eragon's wrath. 'Well, we couldn't keep him around—he _was_ dangerous. The others had run off… without a horse he wouldn't have made it far. I didn't want the Urgals to find him and learn about Arya,' Gandalf reasoned this was the Elf, 'so I thought it would—'

'But to _kill _him?' interrupted Eragon. Saphira sniffed Torkenbrand's head curiously. She opened her mouth slightly, as if to snap it up, then appeared to decide better of it, and prowled to Eragon's side.

'And what were better options?' asked Gandalf, who was done simply observing. 'What would you have Murtagh do instead? Give him water, and a horse, and tell him to flee? Or would you rather he wanders around, starving, thirsting, wishing for a swift death?' Eragon turned to look at Gandalf, and was about to retort, when he saw that the old man had… changed. Gone was the old man, who looked lost, and confused. In his place stood an ancient being, with wisdom and knowledge beyond compare. A being of great kindness, and sorrow. This being held more authority than any king in the history of Alagaësia, be they Dwarf, Elf, or Man. Whoever he was, whoever he is, Eragon knew he could be trusted. 'It is very good, Eragon, that you do not seek out death and destruction. That is the mark of a good person. But Murtagh did indeed have no other option. His death was a kindness.' The anger in Eragons face drained away. He looked down, subdued. 'In any case,' said Gandalf, seeming to become more mundane, 'there is much we must discuss. You need still tell me your tale.' He sat back down, beside his staff. He took out a pipe, put some pipe weed in it, and lit the contents. He puffed contently.

Eragon and Murtagh sat down, in their original locations, and Eragon told the story. He started first with who the Dragon Riders were, and their downfall. He then moved to tell Gandalf of Galbatorix, and the Empire. He explained then who the Varden were. He told him that they were a resistance, hidden in the Beor Mountains. He then told the tale of how he and Murtagh ended up in the desert, from his finding of the Saphira's egg, to his uncles' death, and his oath to kill the Ra'zac, to Brom's death at their hands, to the desperate escape from Gil'ead. He explained how they planned to reach the Varden, and that there were Urgals going their way, and that they might be following them. By the end of Eragons tale, the sun was going down, and Gandalf had made up his mind about his next course of action.

'Your quest,' Gandalf started slowly. 'Is a noble, and honest one.' He looked up at them. 'I should be honoured if you let me join you.'

The two looked conflicted at that. 'Um, I don't know.' Eragon looked at Gandalf uncomfortably. He didn't want to turn the offer down. But he didn't know how Gandalf would travel.

'I would not be a burden for the horses,' prompted Gandalf. Eragon shifted in his place. He sighed.

'Alright,' he said. 'But we need to leave now. We've wasted too much time as it is.'

'I agree,' said Gandalf, standing up. He picked up his staff. He moved towards Snowfire. 'Come, we can talk while we run.' He mounted Snowfire. Eragon tied Arya to Saphira's belly. 'We should ride only during the night, dawn, and dusk. That is when the desert is coolest.'

'We can't,' said Murtagh. 'The Urgals seem to be running day and night.'

'Then they shall be all the more exhausted,' replied Gandalf. 'If we rest during the day, we shall be able to cover greater ground during night. We all shall be rested, and they will not.' Murtagh found it difficult to argue with that. His conceded, and mounted Tornac. Eragon, finished with tying Arya to Saphira, ran to Gandalf and Snowfire. Saphira took off, flying quickly in the direction they were headed. He mounted Snowfire, in front of Gandalf, and spurred him into action. They took off, and it seemed that Snowfire and Tornac ran faster than before. The leagues seemed to melt away. Eragon suspected somehow it was Gandalf's doing. They rode swiftly through the night, Gandalf's staff providing them light. Eragon and Gandalf spoke, and Gandalf learnt the Dragon Rider, and Eragon's bond with Saphira. It appears his connection with her gave him enhanced abilities, and access to magic. He learnt that Saphira, until she came of age, could not breathe fire. They could also communicate telepathically. Gandalf asked Eragon to tell Saphira he was sorry for his earlier actions. He then talked to Eragon about magic for many hours, finding himself curious about this worlds magic. He determined that, when the opportunity arose, he would have to learn more about it.

It was around midday when they stopped. While they rested, Eragon went off to fly with Saphira, to keep an eye on the Urgals, he said. Gandalf knew better, of course. He was still conflicted about yesterday. So he sat with an impatient Murtagh. He took out his pipe, and started smoking it again.

'Ahh,' he sighed. 'Would you care to try some, Murtagh?' He took another pipe out of his cloak. 'It's Old Toby, the finest pipe weed in the Farthing. I got it from the Hobbits who lived there. Nothing better to sooth your nerves.' Murtagh looked conflicted for a moment, then accepted.

A while later, he was learning to blow smoke rings. He caught on quickly enough. 'So,' Gandalf said after blowing a smoke bird through one of Murtaghs rings, while they were waiting. 'Pray tell, what is your story, my friend? I have heard Eragon's, now I think we have time to learn yours.'

Murtagh hesitated. This man, whoever he was, was wise. But he was still new. He did not want to explain too much of his history. But, then again, he felt he could trust this man. He felt this man would not judge him. He sighed, and sat straighter. 'Okay. But if I tell mine, you have to tell me yours in return.' Gandalf nodded. 'Alright. So, my father was Morzan, the first and last of the Forsworn. I was raised in the service of Galbatorix. At one point, I was called to eat with the king. It was an unusual demand. I went to dine with him, all the same. We ate alone. And he… he spoke to me. He was the most convincing man I ever knew. His words were perfectly chosen. He spoke to me visions of a grand and beautiful future, one where everyone lived in peace and harmony. I was ensnared by his words. And then, he told me that he would call on me, one day. Years passed. He finally did. There were three brigades that was burnt down by the Varden. It would prove to be a massive strategic hindrance. The king called, and I came.' His words became softer. 'The man that I had seen at the dinner table, all those years ago, was gone. And in his place, a monster. I saw the king for what he truly was. He cared not for the lives of his subjects, only what they could do for him. He yelled at me, and demanded in a terrible voice I burn them all to the ground, and to bury them in dung. That night, my servant, Tornac, who taught me everything, who was more a father to me than Morzan ever was, worked with me to escape.

'But something went wrong. The guards were waiting for us. I imagine Galbatorix was spying on me the whole time. They were ordered not to kill us, I think. But somehow, Tornac died. He was stabbed in the back.' Murtagh smirked. 'Imagine that. The finest swordsman taken down like a common thug. I was fortunate enough to escape. I made my way, in grief, to someone I thought I could trust in Dras Leona, and spent the rest of my time trying to hide. And now, the Empire will know where I am.' He took a deep breath of the pipe. He blew out a great ring, and turned to Gandalf. 'So, your turn.'

Gandalf took a deep breath of Old Toby as well, before releasing an intricate ship in the shape of a swan. He sighed. 'You must understand, Murtagh,' he turned to look at him. 'That I cannot tell you my entire story. I have been around far too long to be able to do so. But I can tell you my most recent adventure. Is that acceptable?' Murtagh nodded. 'Good. Now, in a hole, in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, full worms, and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole, and that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home…' Gandalf then told him the tale of Bilbo Baggins. By the time he was finished, Eragon and Saphira had arrived. They landed hurriedly.

'What now?' asked Murtagh, curtly.

'The Urgals are overtaking us,' said Eragon. He pointed back towards the camps column.

'How far do we have to go?' asked Murtagh, putting his hands against the sky and measuring the hours until sunset.

'Normally, I would say five days. At the rate we've been travelling, only three. Maybe two. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will probably catch us, and Arya will certainly die.'

'She might last another day.'

'Don't count on it,' object Eragon. 'The only way we'll get to the Varden is if we don't stop for anything, least of all sleep. That's our only chance.'

Murtagh laughed bitterly. 'How can you expect to do that? We've already gone days without adequate sleep. Unless Riders are made of different stuff than us mortals, you're as tired as I am. We've covered a staggering distance, and the horses, in case you haven't noticed, are ready to drop. Another day might kill us all.'

Eragon shrugged. 'So be it. We don't have a choice.'

Gandalf decided to intervene. 'Actually, I rather think we needn't worry so much. I have a little something that I got as a gift from the Elves of Rivendell a while back, for returning to them a great deal of belongings to them. And Elrond felt he owed me for not listening to me when I told him Sauron was on the move.' Gandalf chuckled a bit at that, and the fact that Eragon was completely oblivious as to the names. Only Murtagh understood the names.

'Well,' Murtagh asked, impatient. 'What is it?'

Gandalf produced a flask from his robes. 'Miruvor. A cordial that was given to me. It will renew your strengths, and Saphira, and the horses as well. Do not take too much! I have only a little with me, and I do not know the recipe.' He passed it around, instructing them only to take a sip. He spoke to the horses, and told them to only take two sips. Saphira had three. He told Eragon and Murtagh to save their questions for another time.

'This still begs the question,' said Eragon, feeling stronger than he had in days. 'How will we out run them? Somehow, they are faster on foot than we are on horseback.'

'I could leave you and Gandalf to fly ahead with Saphira… it would force the Urgals to divide their troops, and give you a better chance at reaching the Varden.'

It would be suicide,' said Eragon, crossing his arms. 'They would run you down like a deer. The only way to evade them is to find sanctuary with the Varden.' Despite his words, he was unsure if he wanted Murtagh to stay. _I like him, _he confessed to himself, _but I'm no longer sure if that's a good thing._

'I'll escape later,' said Murtagh abruptly. 'When we get to the Varden, I can disappear down a side valley and find my way to Surda, where I can hide without attracting too much attention.'

'So you're staying?' asked Eragon, hopeful.

'Sleep or no sleep, Miruvor or none, I'll see you to the Varden,' promised Murtagh.

'And you, Gandalf?' asked Eragon.

Gandalf smiled warmly. 'Even if I didn't have to, I would still see you to the Varden.'

With new found strength and determination, they sped off, struggling to distance themselves from their foes. However, though they ran through the night, and the better part of the next day, the Urgals still crawled closer. Soon, they were a third closer.

Eragon had relied heavily on the memories of Arya. But due to the alien nature her mind, he often misinterpreted them. Gandalf convinced him to share these memories with them the fifth time they were mislaid. The Elven mind, whilst alien to Eragon, was familiar to what Gandalf knew. They gradually angled towards the foothills of the eastern arm of the mountain – which Gandalf confessed was an impressive size –, searching for the valley that would lead them to the Varden.

On the third day, by their reckoning, Eragon looked, and was pleased to see that the Urgals were far behind them. 'This is the last day,' he told them, yawning widely. 'If we aren't reasonably close by noon, I'm going to fly ahead with Saphira and Arya. Murtagh, you'll be free to go where ever you want. Gandalf, if you still want to follow me, then just be careful.'

'That might not be necessary; we could still get there in time,' said Murtagh. He rubbed the pommel of his sword.

'We could,' said Eragon. He went over to Arya, and put a hand on her forehead. It was damp and dangerously hot. Her eyes wandered uneasily beneath her eyelids, as if she was experiencing a nightmare. He placed a damp cloth on her, wishing he could do more.

Later that day, after Gandalf had given them some more Miruvor to drink, and they had circumnavigated an especially broad mountain, Gandalf saw a valley that was so restricted, it was almost overlooked. Water flowed out of it. He smiled to himself. The Urgals, he knew, were closing in. He turned to look back at the Urgals. He was not quite as alarmed as he showed the others. 'The Urgals are but a league behind us,' he informed them. We may be able to hide, and confuse them.'

Murtagh looked sceptical. 'It's worth a try. But they've followed us so far.'

They went forth, into the valley. There was a deep forest, which they entered. Saphira flew above them. Gandalf soon realised that this valley was not quite as inconsequential looking up close. In fact, it was rather large. They passed through it at a moderate pace. Gandalf took this time to marvel at the place. Wild strawberries dotted the place; there were waterfalls dotting the great walls. The trees were old and thick. There was little sunlight, due to the grey clouds and deepness of the valley, and the trees. Moss covered the stones. A heavy fog lifted from the ground, dampening the sound. Some hours later, Saphira landed in a nearby glade. They exited the forest, and entered the glade. A conversation passed through her and Eragon.

'The Varden are hidden,' informed Gandalf, 'at the end of this valley. If we are swift, we should make it there before nightfall.'

'Where am I going to escape?' asked Murtagh, putting his hands on his hips. 'I don't see any valleys out of here, and the Urgals will be closing in. They will hem us in pretty soon.' I need an escape route.'

'It is a large valley, dear Murtagh,' answered Gandalf. 'There is bound to be one further down the road.' He stopped, so that Eragon could get off.

'Watch Arya,' said Eragon. 'I'm going to fly with Saphira for a bit. We'll meet you up ahead.'

Gandalf nodded his ascent. He murmured words to Arya, as she was put on Snowfire. Her fever cooled a little. Not much, but enough to be of some comfort. He could do no more beyond that. He felt wind against his face as Saphira took off. He looked up, then continued on, heading back into the forest. They picked up the pace a bit. Gandalf was deep in thought. He wondered how he was sent here, and by whom? Could this be the workings of Sauron? A ploy to remove Gandalf from the playing field? Or was this the doing of one of the Valar? Or even Eru Ilúvatar himself? His thoughts were cut short when Murtagh spoke.

'Gandalf,' he said, getting Gandalf's attention. He turned towards Murtagh. 'Could you tell me a story? From your world?' Gandalf pondered this for a few seconds.

'I dare say I could,' he answered. 'But there are very many, and they are very long. They have songs, which are shorter. So, I will sing to you the tale of Beren and Lúthien.' He paused, to gather his thoughts, and sung, his voice deep and sorrowful. Long he sang, and it seemed to Murtagh as though he could see far off visions, of a mortal man, and Elven princess, and the turmoil they went through. He felt almost sad that the song ended.

Afterwards, they rode on in silent for a time. He thanked Gandalf, breaking the silence for a second, before going quite again. A little while later, Murtagh stopped, and looked at the ground. Gandalf looked to where he was, and saw tracks, in the shape of a wolves, but much larger. At the same time, Eragon and Saphira landed in a small field. Gandalf saw Eragon was stooped, exhausted. He hurried Snowfire to them, concerned.

'What happened to you?' he asked, concern permeating his voice.

'… I made a mistake,' confessed Eragon. 'The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot a rule of magic, and it cost me dearly.'

'Fool of a Rider!' scowled Gandalf. 'This is no time to make foolish mistakes. From what you told me about the rules of magic, you could very well have killed yourself.'

'I know,' said Eragon. He grinned. 'Saphira tells me to tell you that she said much the same thing.'

'Oh,' said Gandalf. 'Proves my point, does it not?' He sighed, and took out his flask of Miruvor. 'Here, my lad. Have two sips of the Miruvor.'

Eragon accepted them gratefully. Murtagh trotted towards them, a grim look on his face. 'You alright?' he asked.

'I am now,' replied Eragon.

'Right, well, I just found some wolf footprints, but they're as wide as both my hands, and an inch deep. There are some creatures here that would harm even you, Saphira. I know you can't enter the forest, but could you fly directly above us? Otherwise there might not be enough of us left to roast in a thimble.'

'Humour, Murtagh?' asked Eragon, a smile coming to his face.

'Only on the gallows.' Murtagh rubbed his eyes. 'I can't believe that the same Urgals have been following us this entire time. They would have to be birds to catch up to us.'

'Saphira said they were bigger than any we've seen before,' remarked Eragon.

Murtagh cursed in realization, clutching the pommel of his sword. 'That explains it! Saphira, if you're right, then those are Kull. They're the elite of the Urgals. They don't ride horses because there are none that can carry them. Not one of them is under 8 feet tall—and they can run without sleep for days without sleep and still be ready for battle. It can take five men to kill one. The Kull never leave their caves except for war, so they must be expecting a great slaughter, if they are out in such force.'

'Can we stay ahead of them?' asked Eragon.

'Who knows,' said Murtagh, wearily. 'They're strong, determined, and large in numbers. It's possible we may have to face them. If that's so, then I just hope the Varden have men posted nearby. Even with our skill, and Saphira, we can't hold off Kull.' Murtagh sighed, and scanned the valley walls, worry in his eyes. Eragon knew what he was searching for.

'There'll be one farther in,' he told Murtagh. Gandalf looked back, knowing this was not true.

'Of course,' said Murtagh, with forced optimism. He turned Tornac around. 'We must go.'

'How's Arya, Gandalf?' asked Eragon.

'Her fever is worse, though I have done what I could to lower it,' replied Gandalf. 'She's been tossing and turning.'

'What do you expect?' asked Murtagh, desperately. 'Her strength is failing her. You should fly her to the Varden now, before the poison does any more damage.'

'I won't leave you behind,' insisted Eragon. 'Not with these Urgals so close behind.'

'Murtagh is right, Eragon,' interjected Gandalf. 'Fly with Arya to end of the valley, but stop some five hundred feet before you reach the waterfall. When you land, lay Arya down. Then you can return and drop stones on them from above. Murtagh and I will go as fast as we can. And Murtagh,' he turned now to Murtagh. 'I'm afraid that, if there is a way out of this valley, you should not take it.'

Murtagh turned to Gandalf. 'Gandalf—'he got no further.

'If you take another path, then the Kull will most certainly overrun you, before tomorrow at the most. Or the Varden, thinking you a spy, will.' He looked hard into Murtaghs eyes. 'I know your grievances with Varden, and they are valid. But your only other option is death.' Murtagh glowered at Gandalf.

'Fine, if there's no way I can slip away quietly, and undetected I will,' he conceded. He turned back to Eragon and Saphira. 'You heard Gandalf. What do you think?'

'I think it might just work, except I think I should stay with Arya, just to be safe,' said Eragon. Murtagh nodded, and Eragon and Saphira took off. Gandalf and Murtagh followed soon after, quickly going into a slow canter.

They made their way to the end of the valley, though it was not yet in sight. A horn echoed through the valley. Gandalf looked over his shoulder. He could not yet see them, so he reasoned they were still far behind. He looked up quickly, and saw Saphira fly overhead, a boulder in her talons. He smiled, grimly, and looked back. Whatever foul beasts these were, they would surely be hampered. However, he feared that despite Saphira's aid, the Kull may still find their way to them, before they reached the end of the valley. His smile broadened, however, when he heard the cries of the Kull.

Hours passed, and the valley darkened. The falling night, and the rising fog meant there was little light. Gandalf did not initially want to give any light, for fear that the Kull would see them, but soon reasoned that they would find them anyway. So he risked a little light, just enough to see where they were going, so they didn't trip over any roots, or rocks. The two made their way wordless through valley, turning slowly right.

It was the evening, when they reached the field where Eragon, and now also Saphira, who had taken a respite from her constant bombardment, lay. Both had worry in their eyes. Eragon looked worriedly at Arya, while Saphira looked concernedly to where the Kull would be. Gandalf and Murtagh trotted up to them, and Gandalf gave Arya a sip of the Miruvor. Gandalf looked at the two of them, confused. This was not where they were meant to be.

'Why are you here?' he asked irately. 'The Varden are still a thousand feet that way.' He pointed down the valley, where a distant waterfall flowed by a pebble beach.

Eragon stood to his feet. 'I didn't know,' he confessed. 'I ended up relying on your guidance, and my own memories faded.'

Gandalf sighed. 'No matter,' he said. 'Now, let us tie Arya back to Saphira. And you should ride with us again, Eragon. I have a feeling we may need your skills before the night is over.' He looked at Saphira. 'Also, I must say, miss Saphira, you have done a finer job at deterring the Kulls than I had originally anticipated.'

'Saphira says thank you,' Eragon told Gandalf. He got up, and helped Murtagh tie her to Saphira again. He jumped on Snowfire, after Gandalf.

They rushed to the waterfall, Saphira running alongside them, causing the ground to tremble, arriving there in a few minutes. Eragon got off of Snowfire, but before he could do anything, he was stopped by Murtagh, who rode Tornac in front of him, blocking his path.

'What are you doing?' asked Eragon. He heard Gandalf sigh behind him, for Gandalf knew what was coming.

'Eragon, Saphira,' said Gandalf cautiously, but quickly. 'What Murtagh will say _will_ shock you. But you must not waste time questioning him. He has told me his tale, and I believe he will be no harm to us.'

Eragon looked nervously at Murtagh, who looked down at him, fear in his eyes. 'You… you have a right to know, Eragon.' He took a deep breath, before continuing. 'I am son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn.'


	2. Tronjhiem, and an unforeseen arrival

Eragon stepped back a pace. He could not truly believe it. 'You're his heir?' he asked, cautiously.

'I didn't want this!' cried Murtagh, working to remove his tunic. He moved Tornac so that his back was facing Eragon. 'Look!' he said. There, gnarled, was a scar, from his right shoulder to his left hip, a testament to a terrible tragedy. 'I was only three years old, when my father threw his sword at me in a drunken rage.' He spoke quickly now. He turned back to face Eragon and returned his tunic. 'Eragon, I hate the Empire. But if I go to the Varden, they'll lock me up, for certain.'

'A far better choice than what the Urgals will do to you!' shouted Gandalf. 'Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh can be trusted. Now go! Ask permission for us to enter the Varden.' His voice turned to a low whisper. 'We have wasted enough time as it is.'

Eragon turned to Saphira, then went to the cliff, picked up a large rock, and yelled. 'Aí varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta!' Nothing happened.

A horn sounded. They turned to see Urgals a hundred yards from them. Saphira roared, a challenge for all who dared threaten her rider. She opened her wings and sped towards them. She picked one up, and lifted it high, tearing at it with her jaws. A second later it fell, missing an arm and a leg. Eragon tried to bring her back, but to no avail. Saphira circled them, picking them up, and tearing at them, then dropping them. But they were many. The Urgals shot at her. She rolled, avoiding most of them, and being hit mainly on the scales, which protected her from serious harm. But she roared as arrows pierced her wings.

Eragon shouted again, banging the rock on the cliff face again. But it was in vain. Gandalf bowed his head, searching through his memories, to see where he had gone wrong. And then it came to him.

'Eragon!' he yelled over the din of the waterfall. Eragon turned to him. 'We are on the wrong side! We must go through the waterfall!'

Saphira roared again, and Eragon winced. 'Are you sure?' he asked, struggling to raise his voice over the waterfall.

'Yes!' answered Gandalf. 'Call Saphira! There's no time to waste!'

Gandalf and Murtagh waited anxiously as Eragon called Saphira over. They watched as she dived into the frigid water, and launched out of it, spraying it over them all. The frozen water gave Gandalf an idea.

'Hurry!' he ordered them. 'You must go through the waterfall. Jump!' He stayed back as they moved forward. Eragon turned and looked at him.

'What are you waiting for?' he asked.

'I have a plan,' replied Gandalf. 'But I require you to be on the other side of the waterfall! Now go!'

Eragon moved to him. 'I'm not leaving without you!'

'I will follow in due time! Now jump!' Gandalf said these words with such authority and force, that Eragon merely nodded, and, after convincing the horses to jump, leapt in afterwards. Gandalf turned his attention back to the Kull. They were closing in. He breathed in deep. 'Urgals!' he shouted, his voice deep as the waterfall, and commanding. 'Do not come any further, if you value your foul horns! I will drown you, Kull, and freeze you to the very core!' He said this with such determination and surety, that even the bravest of them faltered. But they were too determined. They strode forth. Suddenly, an arrow pierced their leader. Gandalf did not turn, but lifted his staff, and spoke, clear and cold. He summoned down water from the top of the mountain. Again, the Urgals froze, uncertain as to whether or not they should go forward once more. Again, they pressed on. Gandalf held firm, chanting, until a great sound of crashing water came. He smiled, turned and took off his hat, and with a cry leapt through the waterfall. The second after, the waterfalls pace quickened; the waterfall became wider. The river rose, and drowned the Urgals, sweeping them and their choked cries away.

Gandalf felt the full force of the waterfall hit him almost immediately after he jumped through it. He fell, clutching to his staff and hat, with as much strength as he could. When he finally stopped falling, he kicked back through water, not caring where he went, as long as he could go up for air. As soon as he could, he breached the water's surface. He made his way to the shore and climbing out saw Eragon and Murtagh standing with a group of men. There was a large tunnel, and twelve-foot-high stone doors. Next to Eragon was what appeared to be a Dwarf. There were armed men near the doors, and Murtagh and a bald man in purple and gold robes. The man, whoever he was, and more importantly thought he was, was holding a knife to Murtaugh's throat. Gandalf's eyes blazed.

'So nice of you to finally join us,' said the man, his voice sharp and dangerous. 'That was a nice trick, with the waterfall. Don't try another one on me, or I shall kill your lovely little friend here.' Gandalf opened his mouth to speak. 'None of that now! As I explained to your friends here, if you do anything I don't tell you to do, he will die.' Gandalf tightened his grip on his staff but did nothing else. He could not do anything without endangering Murtaugh's life. But he would certainly get some manner of revenge on him. 'Now, follow me.' He turned and went into the tunnel. Gandalf and the others followed suit.

Long they walked, through the tunnel. The red lanterns provided an earie gloom. Gandalf's thoughts turned to Arya. He had not thought of it before, but she reminded him of Arwen, the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven. Arya desperately needed the antidote. Gandalf wondered how high in esteem Elves were held in this realm. Gandalf sighed, and took the time to admire the handiwork of the local Dwarves. He ran his hand against the tunnel wall, ignoring the spears pointed to him, and found it was smooth, without a hint of blemish. He looked up to the roof; it stood twice as high as him. He then looked to the Dwarf besides Eragon. He had an axe on his belt. It appeared to be of excellent make.

They turned left sharply, and then right, before coming to large doors, that were bolted. They were then unbolted, and the company led in, to a large room, in which Saphira could easily wander about. It was made of white marble. There were the reflections of everyone in the room, but they were thin, ghostly. The doors closed, with a dull boom, and were bolted again. The bald man pushed Murtagh to a guard, who put his sword to his neck.

Gandalf decided to speak up now. 'Excuse me, but—' he was cut off by the bald man.

'No talking!' he hissed. 'You must first complete the examination.'

'All in good time,' bristled Gandalf. 'But at the moment—' again, he was cut off.

'I said no talking,' the bald man spat.

'Young man!' roared Gandalf, now tired of foolish children ordering him about, without the wit to even listen to him. The lanterns dimmed, and it seemed as if Gandalf was the only thing that could be seen. The bald fool stiffened, and the guards shied away from him. 'There is a dying Elf that needs taking care of! Will you aid her or not?' Gandalf looked him hard in the eye. The bald man flinched. The light returned

'How dare you?' he asked. 'I told you not to speak until the examination is over. Now—' this time, he was cut off.

The Dwarf that was by Eragons side came forth. 'Are you blind, Egraz Carn?' he asked, insult clear in his voice. 'Can you not see there is indeed an Elf on the Dragon? We cannot allow her to stay if she is in danger. Ajihad and the king will have our heads if she allowed to die!'

The bald man looked at him, containing his ire, though his eyes tightened. 'Of course, Orik, we wouldn't want that to happen.' He snapped his fingers. 'Untie her from the Dragon.'

Two guards went and did just so. One of them cried out in shock. 'It's the egg-courier, Arya!'

The bald man's eyes narrowed. 'You have much explaining to do.'

'She was poisoned with the Skilna Bragh whilst imprisoned,' said Eragon, returning the gaze with all the determination he could muster. 'Only Túnivor's Nectar can save her now.'

The bald man's face became inscrutable. He stood for a time, motionless, save for his mouth, which twitched from time to time. Then he spoke, coolly. 'Take her to the healers' chambers. Order them to give her Túnivor's Nectar.' The guards nodded and carried her away. He then turned and looked at them. 'Now,' he said, clasping his hands together. 'You will not be permitted any further entrance into Farthen Dûr without completing the test. First, slide your weapons over to me.'

Gandalf took out Glamdring, swiftly, intending to startle the guards. He suppressed a smile when they tightened their grip on the spears. He put it down and slid it over to the bald man. Eragon did the same with Zar'roc.

'And your staff,' prompted the bald man.

'Ridiculous!' cried Gandalf in dismay. 'Caution is one thing, but it is another matter entirely to part an old man from his prop.'

The man smiled. 'I think we both know that is more than a simple prop in your hands.' He held out a hand.

Muttering, Gandalf slid the staff over. The man bowed, mockingly. Gandalf did not know that the worst was yet to come.

'Now, in order to know your true intentions, we will probe your mind. You must remove the barriers from your minds. If you do not, I will extract the information forcefully… which would drive you mad. And if you resist, I will kill your companion.' He gestured to Murtagh.

'Why?' asked Eragon, frustrated.

'To ensure you are not in Galbatorix's service,' answered the man, stepping forth.

Eragon stiffened, and tried to shuffle backwards, only to be stopped by the guards. He took a breath. 'I am ready,' he said.

'Good,' said the bald man. 'Then—' Orik stepped up to the bald man.

'You better not hurt him, Egraz Carn,' he said, threat clear in his voice.

The bald man looked down on him. 'Only if he resists,' he replied. He then placed his hand on Eragon's forehead.

Eragon stiffened. Minutes passed, and Eragon relaxed, slightly. Gandalf wondered what he would show this little man. There was too much to go through. Indeed, millions of years was a long time to gain memories, though many were now little more than faded visions. He soon decided that he would show the past few days, up to where he met Eragon and Murtagh, with the slavers.

At last, he was finished with Eragon. Orik went to his side, carrying a blanket. 'You went too far!' he complained. 'He wasn't strong enough for this.' The bald man waved aside his complaints.

"He'll live. That's all that is needed," answered the bald man curtly.

There was an angry grunt. "What did you find?"

Silence.

"Well, is he to be trusted or not?"

The words came reluctantly. "He… is not your enemy." There were audible sighs of relief throughout the room.

Eragon's eyes fluttered open He gingerly pushed himself upright. 'Easy now," said Orik, wrapping a thick arm around him and helping him to his feet. Eragon wove unsteadily, glaring at the bald man. A low growl rumbled in Saphira's throat.

The bald man ignored them. He turned to Murtagh who was still being held at sword point. "It's your turn now."

Murtagh stiffened and shook his head. The sword cut his neck slightly. Blood dripped down his skin. "No."

'You will not be protected here if you refuse."

"Eragon has been declared trustworthy, so you cannot threaten to kill him to influence me. Since you can't do that, nothing you say or do will convince me to open my mind."

Sneering, the bald man cocked what would have been an eyebrow, if he had any. "What of your own life? I can still threaten that."

"It won't do any good," said Murtagh stonily and with such conviction that it was impossible to doubt his word.

The bald man's breath exploded angrily. 'You don't have a choice!" He stepped forward and placed his palm on Murtagh's brow, clenching his hand to hold him in place. Murtagh stiffened, face growing as hard as iron, fists clenched, neck muscles bulging He was obviously fighting the attack with all his strength. The bald man bared his teeth with fury and frustration at the resistance; his fingers dug mercilessly into Murtagh.

Orik scowled darkly as he watched the combatants. "Ilf carnz orodum," he muttered, then leapt forward and cried, "That is enough!" He grabbed the bald man's arm and tore him away from Murtagh with strength disproportional to his size.

The bald man stumbled back, then turned on Orik furiously "How dare you!" he shouted. 'You questioned my leadership, opened the gates without permission, and now this! You've shown nothing but insolence and treachery. Do you think your king will protect you now?"

Orik bristled. 'You would have let them die! If I had waited any longer, the Urgals would have killed them" He pointed at Murtagh, whose breath came in great heaves. "We don't have any right to torture him for information! Ajihad won't sanction it. Not after you've examined the Rider and found him free of guilt. And they've brought us Arya."

"Would you allow him to enter unchallenged? Are you so great a fool as to put us all at risk?" demanded the bald man His eyes were feral with loosely chained rage; he looked ready to tear the dwarf into pieces.

"Can he use magic?"

'That is—"

"Can he use magic?" roared Orik, his deep voice echoing in the room. The bald man's face suddenly grew expressionless. He clasped his hands behind his back.

"No."

'Then what do you fear? It's impossible for him to escape, and he can't work any devilry with all of us here, especially if your powers are as great as you say. But don't listen to me; ask Ajihad what he wants done."

The bald man stared at Orik for a moment, his face indecipherable, then looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. A peculiar stiffness set into his shoulders while his lips moved soundlessly. An intense frown wrinkled the pale skin above his eyes, and his fingers clenched, as if they were throttling an invisible enemy. For several minutes he stood thus, wrapped in silent communication.

When his eyes opened, he ignored Orik, and turned to Gandalf. 'You're turn,' he sneered.

Gandalf hesitated. 'I should warn you,' he began, when the man came near him. 'I am very, very, old. You would suffer terribly, should you go through all my memories; my mind would also be very strange to mortals. So, I have picked my memories of the past few days.'

'That will not do,' said the man. 'I don't care how old you are; I need them all!'

Gandalf sighed, angrily. 'Very well!' he boomed, weary with the man's denial of patience and reason. 'If you want them all, have them!'

The man smiled, not even considering the full meaning of these words. He placed his hand on Gandalf's forehead; it felt cold. It was the biggest mistake of his life. Memories flooded through him. There was the past few days, yes, and then a year. In another world. And then another year, and another. They soon became decades. Then centuries. Millennia passed, and yet the memories did not stop. Millions of years passed by and showed no signs of stopping. He saw things undreamed of. A war. Between gods. Mountains fells to ruin. Oceans were spilled over. Valleys delved and raised. Seas of blood was spilt. The Oath of Fëanor. The children of Húrin. The Silmarils. The trees of Valinor; all these he saw. But it was not the end.

There was one, final memory to come. Gandalf's first memory. The Ainulindalë. The first song. The song that began it all. The beginning of existence itself. The Valar, the Maiar, and the One. Eru Ilúvatar. The bald man, his head full of eternity, fell back with a sharp cry. He hit the floor with a thud, immediately crawling up into a ball, whimpering. His eyes were vacant, staring into the distance. His mouth moved wordlessly. Tears rolled from his eyes.

Everyone in the room turned to Gandalf, fear and awe in their eyes.

'Vor Hrothgarz korda!' exclaimed Orik. 'What did you do to him?' He jumped in front of Eragon, a hand on his axe.

'I merely showed him what he wanted,' said Gandalf, calmly. 'No more, no less, master Dwarf.'

'You and he stood there for an hour!' the Dwarf said in shock.

'I have many memories,' Gandalf said grimly. He moved to where the fallen man lay. He knelt down, and placed a hand on his forehead, chanting softly. He removed the memories, save for the past seven days. He stood up. 'He will live,' proclaimed Gandalf. 'In fact, he will be fine. He will not remember much of what he had seen. Indeed, only seven days of my memories will he see clearly. But I think that will be enough. The pain will stay with him, though, and the span of my memories. He will need somewhere to rest, now. Come guards, and take him to his chambers.'

Three guards moved to do so, without hesitation. Orik looked as they carried the bald man away. He turned to Gandalf.

'The four of you will have to stay here for tonight, until something can be arranged.' He pointed to Murtagh. 'You will have to open your mind to us, or you will be locked up tomorrow again.' He turned Eragon. 'I'll see if they can bring you some food to eat.' He then motioned for the guards to follow him, and left, with their weapons, and Gandalf's staff. The door closed with a boom.

Gandalf huffed, and sat down against the wall. He sighed, and took out his pipe, and pipe weed. He warmed his pipe up, drying it off. He then placed some pipe weed in it. He muttered a few words, that Eragon could not understand, and started to smoke. He saw Murtagh, who was sitting against the wall as well, look askingly. He smiled, and took out another pipe, and pipe weed, and the same. He handed it to Murtagh, who began smoking it too. Eragon watched this unfold curiously.

'When did you start smoking, Murtagh?' he asked, sitting against Saphira.

Gandalf answered for him. 'It was the day after we met,' he said. 'While you were flying with Saphira, conflicted over Torkenbrand.'

Eragon opened his mouth in an 'o' shape, then closed it.

'I'm afraid I don't have another spare,' said Gandalf.

'Okay,' said Eragon, simply. He looked down for a time. Minutes passed, and the only sound was that of Gandalf and Murtagh blowing smoke rings. At last, he spoke up. 'Are you alright?' he asked Murtagh. Murtagh nodded. 'Did he get anything out of you?'

'No.'

'How were you able to keep him out? He's so strong.'

'I've… I've been well trained.' There was a bitter note to his voice.

'And you Gandalf?' asked Eragon. 'You said you showed him your memories. But he fell back, like you had attacked him.'

'As I said to master Orik,' said Gandalf, turning a dangerous eye to Eragon, 'I have many memories.' He said then no more.

Silence enshrouded them. 'I didn't tell them who you are,' Eragon said eventually, looking at Murtagh.

Murtagh looked back at him. 'Thank you,' he said, earnestly.

'They didn't recognize you,' Eragon pointed out. Murtagh pursed his lips. 'And you still say you're the son of Morzan?' Murtagh nodded. Eragon was about to speak, when blood dropped from Saphira, onto him. He hastily turned and worked to heal her. Fortunately, the wounds were all rather easy to heal. His task completed, he sat down, tired.

'I hope they bring food soon,' commented Murtagh.

'Mm.' Eragon rested again Saphira again. He looked at Gandalf, who was smoking, his eyes half closed, and his head bowed. He then looked to Murtagh, who was looking into the distance. 'Why are you here?' he asked suddenly. Murtagh jerked his head to face him. 'If you really are the son of Morzan, then Galbatorix wouldn't just let you wander about Alagaësia freely. How did you find the Ra'zac on your own? How is it I've never heard of the Forsworn having children before? And what are you doing here?' His voice rose nearly to a shout by the end.

Murtagh sighed. 'I… it's not a story that… it's a long story,' he said, awkwardly.

'We have time,' said Eragon, looking hard at Murtagh.

Murtagh pulled a hand over his face. 'Alright,' he conceded. 'But I don't want to stop, so get comfortable.' He waited, while Eragon shifted in his place against Saphira. 'Okay. Gandalf already knows most of this.' Eragon's eyes narrowed. Murtagh held up a hand to placate him. 'I know, I'm sorry,' he apologized. 'But I felt like I could trust Gandalf not to judge me based on who my father is. Unlike every other being in Alagaësia. But… I digress.'

And thus, Murtagh unveiled his tale to Eragon and Saphira. He spoke to them of how his father and mother met, and how he had taken advantage of her, turning her into a weapon of his own. He told them of how, when he was born, he was used then as leverage against his mother. He told them that she died, and that Morzan too fell, by the sword of Brom, and that he was then brought to the castle of Galbatorix. He explained to them how, in the service of Galbatorix, he was raised by Tornac. How, he had been left alone for the most part, occasionally talking in the presence of eavesdroppers. His voice then lowered, and he spoke to them of his invitation by the king. He told them how the king had spoken to him grand visions; visions of great cities, and peace all over. Of the extermination of the Urgals, the returning of the Riders themselves. He told them how he was entranced by those words, and how, when Galbatorix asked for his fealty, he gave it immediately. He then told them, in a lower and sadder voice, how years passed when, at last he was called on by the king. He told them that his old excitement returned, but was soon lost, when he saw the king for what he truly was. He told them how he had raged, cursing his foes with the foulest of curses. His voice was no longer sweet and tempting, but cruel, and altogether evil.

He told them then how, in fear he had planned to run away. He spoke of how he had run away with Tornac and were intercepted. He spoke of the bloody fight. He told them, in a cracking voice, how Tornac was slain with a knife in the back. He told them how he fled, and in mourning went to find someone in Dras Leona who he thought he could trust. And how, hearing news of a rising Dragon Rider, he sought the Ra'zac, hoping in turn to find them. He then, at last, explained that he knew the king was flawed, indeed even broken, but the kingdom itself ran fine, and that the rebels, as he called them, wanted to destroy both.

They sat in silence for a while after, with Gandalf seemingly asleep, his hat besides him. While everyone else was surprised about these things, Gandalf of course was not. In fact, the only new knowledge he had gained was regarding the love affair Morzan had with Murtaugh's mother. And Eragon, his curiosity about Murtagh sated, spoke with Saphira, still unsure as to whether or not he could trust Murtagh. Saphira, it seemed trusted him, or at least believed him. It seemed also that her curiosity was now directed more towards Gandalf. As Eragon thought more about it, he did not know much, if anything, about this unassuming old man, beyond that there is more to him than there seems. At the urging of Saphira, Eragon spoke up.

'Gandalf,' he began. Gandalf looked up at him, as if being woken up out of a deep thought.

'Yes, dear Eragon?' he asked, mumbling. Eragon looked at him, wondering how this could be the same man who had fought the slavers, and seemed so noble but a few days ago.

'Saphira and I were wondering, just how old are you?' Eragon shifted again, so as to face Gandalf. 'And what exactly are you? And where did you come from? And how did you do what you did with the waterfall? And why are you here now?' Eragon was nearly yelling again, by the end of these questions.

Gandalf sat, staring at Eragon for a time, before answering. When he did, it was drawn out. 'I hope you both understand,' he began, slowly, 'that I cannot answer all your questions. Some not now, and some not entirely.'

'Why?' demanded Eragon crossly.

'Because there are somethings I do not know myself, and other things that would mean nothing to you, and many things I would rather keep to myself for the time being.' Gandalf leaned forward speaking quickly, and quietly. He leaned back, after a second, and continued to speak, clearer, and slower. 'However,' he sighed. 'I suppose I must answer some of your questions. As to your first, all I can say at the present moment, is that I am far older than any being here, dead or alive. For your next, I cannot say, at least not at the present. As to how I did what I did with the waterfall, it is a spell I learnt from the Teleri, the Sea-Elves of Ossiriand, many of who live now in Lothlórien. As to why I am here, all I can do is speculate. Perhaps this was the doing of evil, or the will of the Valar. No matter who did it, I am meant to be here. Indeed, things are in motion now. War is coming to the Varden, and I imagine soon. We must be ready. Your comings, Eragon, Saphira, and Murtagh, is as the first link in a great chain.'

Gandalf had quickened his pace, and when he was finished, the door opened, and three bowls of food was pushed in, along with a plate, with raw meat, and one and a half loaves of bread. Murtagh threw the meat to Saphira, who snatched it. He passed a bowl, and half a loaf to Gandalf, and shared the other bowls and loaf with Eragon and himself. Afterwards, with Eragon's curiosity sated, they all went to sleep, weary.

* * *

Some hours later, though they didn't know how much longer, the doors opened. Gandalf stirred. The dwarf, Orik, was there, his eyes betraying supressed anger. Gandalf felt shock, for a moment, when the same bald man stepped through. But it was not the same, Gandalf realised. It was a twin. In his eyes anger was not supressed.

"You have been summoned by Ajihad," he spat. He refused to look at Gandalf. "If you must eat, you can do so while we walk."

Eragon, who had risen earlier, along with Murtaugh and Saphira, spoke up. "What about our weapons?" he asked. "When are we going to get them back? And our horses?"

The man looked at him disdainfully. "You will get your weapons when Ajihad sees fit, not before. As for your horses, they await you in the tunnel. Now come!" He made to leave.

Eragon stood. "What about Arya?"

The man spun around, trying not to yell. He was clear unaccustomed to having his orders delayed. "She is being taken care of by the healers. Now come." With that, he turned and left.

Gandalf followed last, after Eragon and the Dwarf, Orik. The company rode in silence for a little under an hour, the silence broken only by the sound of horse hooves on the marble floor, and the breathing of people. In the time, Gandalf surveyed the tunnel – dwarf work, for sure. The tunnel did not stray from its path in the slightest. It was illuminated every few meters by elegant red lanterns. Not a single part was out of line, and it was perfectly squared. Gandalf ran his hand along the wall, and found it was smooth marble.

At long last, they came to a light in the tunnel, and saw there great pillars. Light flowed through the tunnel, borne from lanterns held between pillars, and gold was traced through the pillars, like streams flowing through a forest. Atop sat carved raven heads, and their beaks were open. Before them sat two black doors of colossal size, and above it was a seven-spiked crown, encompassing it.

The bald man, who had been silent before now, spoke to Eragon. "You will ride upon your dragon now."

Gandalf took the reins of Snowfire, knowing exactly what the man wanted. He wished now he had his staff, so he could better introduce Eragon and Saphira, which he knew he would. The doors opened, and for a second, Gandalf was blinded. But when the light cleared, and Gandalf could see, he was amazed at what he saw.

They stood in a crater, that stretched many miles into the sky. Far ahead, a great mound stood, and Gandalf saw it to be rather a city, made of what he could not say, but marble, if must hazard a guess. A beam of light fell upon it, illuminating it, and leaving the rest of the mountain in twilight. There were great icicles dotting the mountainside. Gandalf looked aside and saw what looked to be towns surrounding the city. Gandalf then heard Orik speak to Eragon.

"Look well, human," he said, "for no Rider has set eyes on this for nigh over a hundred years. The airy peak under which we stand is Farthen Dûr – discovered thousands of years ago by our farther, Korgan, while he tunnelled for gold. And in the centre stands our greatest achievement: Tronjheim, the city-mountain made from the purest marble.

Then, Gandalf turned his gaze to the crowd that had gathered. The men wore daggers and small knives and looked wary. The women wore homespun clothes. The dwarves looked at Eragon and Saphira, and many were angry. Looking up, he saw Eragon was still engrossed by the city. So, moving forward, he cast his voice out.

"Behold, Eragon, Rider of Dragons, son of none, and Saphira, Queen of Dragons, daughter of Wind and Fire!" He looked up at Eragon, who seemed to, having noticed the crowed and Gandalf's introduction, become a bit panicked. He did, however, raise his hand, in what appeared to be a wave, which he promptly stuck down, embarrassed.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a single cheer broke through the silence, soon followed by clapping and cheering and whistling, by the men and women and children; the Dwarves looked on with sour faces, or turned their backs and walked away. Saphira stepped forth, releasing a puff of smoke. The cheering stopped, only to return, louder than before. More Dwarves left.

Just then, the bald man instructed them to walk. They continued to the mountain-city, and Gandalf could see clearly the smooth marble, and it seemed to flow, shaped into contours, seeming as if it were poured into a mould. Windows dotted the city, lanterns hanging by each. Directly ahead of them stood great griffins, made of gold, guarding a large timber gate. They passed through it, and Gandalf saw jasper pillars, blood red. Beasts of bizarre shapes stood between each, seemingly captured in stone. They continued to the base of Tronjheim, and saw banners and tapestries hung on arches. Crowds gathered, eager to see Saphira and Eragon, minding only slightly the Grey Wizard who had announced them, and the stiff and pale boy who rode next to them.

They continued through a large hallway, perhaps a mile in length, to a circular room, no less than a thousand feet in diameter. It was a nexus, for four hallways led out from therein. Gandalf looked up, and let out a small gasp, despite himself.

Far above them, hung a finely carved rose. Such was the detail of the carved rose that Gandalf, for a second, thought it to be real. Lanterns hung around it, and a bright light above it, shining down upon them in striated light that seemed ethereal. What held it up, Gandalf could not rightly see, but he would not be surprised if it were magic. Twenty yards it was across, and deep and beautiful red. It was as if in full bloom.

Despite his foreboding sense of oncoming war, Gandalf felt himself smile. This place, Tronjheim, was shaped with the skill of the Dwarf lords of old. It reminded him of Kazad-Dûm in days of yore. For a moment, he was lost in memory, remembering the olden days, when the Dwarves of Middle-Earth delved alongside the Elves. When the two peoples worked together to achieve many a great thing.

He was brought out of his memories by a harsh voice. "You must go on foot from here," the bald man dictated to Eragon. From there, they went into a hall at the farthest end of the room. Gandalf dismounted then from Snowfire, bidding him farewell as he was led away. Then, boldly, wishing again he had his staff, went ahead of the rest.

The room which the hallway led to was large, and filled with books on ebony shelves, reaching to the roof. Lanterns of white light were placed at many points around the room, so a book could read anywhere. A large and intricate oval rug covered the stone floor. In the very centre was a large walnut table, and a dark-skinned man stood behind it. His eyes were heavy and piercing; his head was bald, and he had a close-trimmed beard over his chin and mouth. His shoulders were broad, and he exuded confidence, yet not to the point of arrogance. He wore a red tapered vest, embroidered with gold threads over a purple shirt.

"Welcome to Tronjheim, Gandalf, Eragon, and Saphira," he said, his voice commanding, strong, and deep, yet not unkind. "I am Ajihad."

The trio, Gandalf, Eragon, and Murtagh settled into three armchairs, whilst Saphira settled down behind them. Ajihad snapped his fingers, and a man, robed in purple, leaning on a walking stick came out. Eragon stiffened in surprise when he realised that it was the man who had probed him the day before. His eyes flitted about, and when he saw Gandalf, thinned in anger, and also fear.

"Your confusion is understandable, for they are twins," remarked Ajihad. "I would tell you

their names, but they have none."

Saphira hissed in distaste, and Murtagh stiffened. Gandalf merely frowned. Ajihad peered at Saphira for a moment, then sat down in his tall seat. The twins hurried beside him and stood impassively beside each other. Ajihad, for a time, studied them all, his gaze unwavering and steely.

Eragon squirmed, uncomfortable. For several minutes, Ajihad studied them, until at last he lowered his hands and beckoned the twin that had guided them through the halls over. He whispered something in his ear, and the twin shook his head vigorously, then returned to his place.

"You have put me in a difficult place," said Ajihad. "By refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dûr because the twins have assured me they can control you, and because of your actions for Eragon and Arya. I understand there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."

"You wouldn't trust me anyway," said Murtagh. His voice was impassive, but Gandalf heard a note of fear.

Ajihads face darkened, and his eyes glinted with a dangerous light. "Though it's twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ears," he spoke slowly, as a storm gathers slowly, "I know that voice. It came from another, more beast than man." He rose from his seat. "Get up!" he demanded. Murtagh complied. "Remove your shirt." Again, Murtagh obeyed. "Now turn around." Murtagh did so, revealing his scar. "Murtagh," hissed Ajihad. He turned to the Twins and roared, without warning. "Did you know of this?"

The Twins shook. "We discovered the name within Eragon's mind, but we had no idea that this boy was the son of—"

"And you didn't tell me?" Ajihad interrupted them, his voice booming. "No matter." He raised a hand to forestall their explanation. "We will discuss it later. First, I must untangle this muddle. Do you still refuse to be probed?" he turned to Murtagh.

"Yes," replied Murtagh sharply, tugging his tunic back on. "I won't let anyone inside my head."

"There will be unpleasant consequences is you don't. Unless the Twins can certify you are not a threat, we cannot give you credence, despite, and perhaps because of the aid you gave Eragon, Saphira and Gandalf. Without that verification, Dwarf and Human alike will tear you apart if they learn of your presence here…" Ajihad explained much to Murtagh, but in the end, Murtagh refused still. Reluctantly, Ajihad ordered his guards to take him away, and ordered everyone out save for Eragon, Saphira, and Gandalf.

He turned then to Gandalf. "Now, Gandalf," he said, for a moment betraying the wariness he felt, "You present a particular challenge. That is: you were able to overcome one of the Twins with, if what he said was to be believed, your memories alone. For a long time, all he said was one word: Eternity. Care to explain what that was about."

"Certainly, Lord Ajihad," remarked Gandalf. "I am terribly old, older than any that reside here. Neither Dragon, nor Dwarf, nor Elf is as old as I am, though I have only walked the earth clad as I am for little over two thousand years. And no, I do not think I shall share with you what I mean as of yet, Lord Ajihad. All else I shall share is that I am here to help."

Ajihad remained silent for a time. Many minutes passed ere he spoke. "Your blade," he said. "It is of Elvish make, is it not?" Gandalf nodded. "But it is unlike any of the blades I have seen before."

"Perhaps."

Again, Ajihad fell silent. "I know not what you are Gandalf, nor where you come from. But, you have permitted yourself to be probed, and you did give all your memories. You have proved yourself trustworthy." Then he turned to Eragon and Saphira.

Before they could continue, however, there was a noise like thunder, and a light like lightning flashed, and there before them stood a man clad in shining gold

armor. There was a sword by his side, and a circlet adorned his brow. His hair was like the shadows of twilight. But it was no man. It was an Elf!

"Lord Elrond!" Gandalf exclaimed, amazed. "My friend."

* * *

**Here it is, the next part. No, I have not yet forgotten about it. I don't promise regular updates. Enjoy, don't hate it too much. Please tell me what you think, and give me your advice.**


	3. Lord Elrond

**Exim Black: Elrond's foresight is an ability I'm looking forward to playing with, later on in the story.**

**Guest: Yes, Gandalf will talk to Saphira, no we won't see Shadowfax, and while we will see another character from Lord of the Rings, it won't be Gandalf the White.**

Elrond looked at Gandalf, confusion knotting his brow. "Gandalf, " he whispered, "what sorcery is this?" He looked around, and cried in dismay, when he saw Saphira. He drew his sword and held it in a defensive position. He took stock of the room and its inhabitants. He did not know if he could protect the others, but this one seemed young. Perhaps he could distract it while Gandalf -

"Elrond!" Gandalf's voice cut through his thoughts. "Lord Elrond! Lower your sword! This dragon is not a foe. She is not the spawn of Glaurung or Ancalagon." Gandalf came beside him. "She is a friend."

Elrond dared to turn his eyes to Gandalf, but he ever kept the dragon in his vision. "Gandalf. What is the meaning of this?"

"I will explain everything, my friend," said Gandalf, his voice soothing. "But you must first put down your sword." Reluctantly, Elrond lowered his sword, though he did not return it to its scabbard, and he did not turn from the dragon.

"Well, Gandalf, tell me: where am I, and what is the reason none are dead yet, especially the dragon?" The last word he spat.

And so Gandalf spoke of what had occurred in the past few days, and what he had learnt of the Dragon Riders. He spoke of the current state of affairs in the world of Alagaësia. By the end, Elrond had sheathed his sword. He looked at Saphira, the light of anger and fear gone.

"My deepest apologies, lady Saphira," he bowed. "In my home, dragons are creatures of great evil and cruelty. However, I should have known at the first you were not one of them; they were hideous in appearance. You, however, as fair as the stars."

Saphira bared her teeth, in what appeared to be a smile, and the boy Eragon seemed to release a sigh. Eragon spoke. "Saphira says thank you for your compliments, but she says that if you did attack her, you wouldn't have done too well."

"Perhaps," was the Elf Lords only enigmatic response. Then he turned to the leader of the Varden and Eragon. "My apologies, Lord Ajihad, Master Eragon. In the excitement, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lord Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Rivendell, though I imagine you have not heard of it, chiefly because it seems it does not exist here."

Eragon bowed from his seat. "It is an honour to meet an Elf, especially one that is not dying."

Ajihad nodded gravely. "It is an honour to meet you, Lord Elrond. But this complicates matters." Ajihad rested his head on his steepled fingers. "King Hrothgar will wish to know of you. And I do not image the Dwarven clans will be too happy with two Elves under their halls, especially an unknown one, even more so the fact that you have arrived unannounced." 

"Indeed," replied Elrond. He pondered silently for a moment, before he spoke again. "This Elf-maiden, Arya. How fairs she?"

"The poison took a dreadful toll on her," answered Ajihad. "The healers worked on her throughout the night. She is expected to make a full recovery, if things do not go amiss. Unfortunately, she is in a terribly risky part of the process. Her life hangs in the balance."

"If that is the case, lord Ajihad," said Elrond, "then I offer my skills as a healer."

"Lord Elrond is the greatest healer of the age," vouched Gandalf. "His skills are legendary. None can surpass him, not in Middle-Earth, at least."

Ajihad pondered this. Or at least, pretended to. He had heard tales of the legendary skills the Elves possessed. Even if this one was not the same as the ones here, if this Gandalf character vouches for him, then there must be something of value and skill to him. And indeed, there was something about this Elrond character that seemed… strange. As if he was both more grounded in reality than anything in Alagaësia and more detached from reality. There were memories in those eyes, memories of days untold. No. Of years untold. Millenia. And yet his face seemed ageless. Hale as a tried warrior in the fullness of strength, and yet also like a venerable king, crowned with countless winters. He certainly held up to the reputation of the Elf legends he had so often heard, especially as a boy. And yet somehow more so.

"Very well," he said at last. He called in one of the guards, who was extremely confused by the sudden appearance of the Elf-lord. Ajihad calmed him down, explaining some of what has occurred. He ordered him then to escort him to the healers, where Arya lay. The guard obeyed, and Elrond went with him. Before they left, Ajihad told the guard to send Orik in. There was a loud dwarfish curse heard outside. The guard was heard talking to Orik. There was silence for a moment, before the Dwarf came in.

"Lord Ajihad, what is the meaning of this?!" Orik asked.

"I do not entirely know myself, Orik," said Ajihad. "But it would seem as though many bizarre things are occurring. The Elf that walked past you appeared in a flash of light, right before my eyes. He seems to be from the same land Gandalf is. I do believe he is not an enemy. But there are other things to discuss, Orik. Namely, your disobedience. You've caused me a great deal of trouble. I've had to listen to one of the twins complain all morning about you. Though not nearly as much as Gandalf, I suppose. But that still doesn't change the facts. You disobeyed multiple direct orders. An accounting is due."

Orik spoke softly, though his voice was rough. He gave his accounting to Ajihad, explaining how the Twins did nothing, even though they heard Eragon. He spoke of how they refused to send help, even when they did not surface. He told Ajihad about how they attempted to force their way into Murtagh's mind.

"Although," he mentioned, "I never would have done so if I knew who he was."

"No, no," Ajihad waves his hand. "You did the right thing. It's not our place to force our mind into others, even though it would be easier if we did. However, there still remains your insubordination. You defied a direct order from your superior. The punishment for that has always been death."

"You can't kill him!" cried Eragon, dismayed. "If he hadn't helped, none of us would be alive."

"You cannot interfere!" barked Ajihad. Then he sighed. "But, as you did help save a dragon, her rider, and a rather powerful seeming wizard, the punishment will be less severe. From here on out, Orik, you are unable to train, or fight, under my command. You will serve as a tour guide for Eragon, Saphira, and Gandalf."

Orik looked angry at first, but then confused. Gandalf had an idea of what Ajihad was playing at, and if he was right, then Ajihad had just played a very clever move. His face did not betray his thoughts.

Then Ajihad sighed, and pulled out Eragon's blade. He tapped on it idly. "I wish Brom had told me that he took Morzan's sword. I would suggest you do not wear it within this mountain. The Dwarves have long memories, and many remember the atrocities committed by the previous owner of this blade." He passed it back to Eragon. He also gave Gandalf's staff and sword back. "Now, if you please, I am about to have a long and particular meeting with the twins, and then a long and difficult meeting with the Dwarven king Hrothgar. Orik, if you would please show Eragon and Saphira to their rooms, and Gandalf to one of the suites. And perhaps feed them. I'm told they've had nothing more than hard bread to eat. For now, Eragon, Gandalf, Saphira, rest, relax. We will have to continue talking another time, particularly regarding your plans here at Tronjheim. But I must warn you, Eragon. You cannot escape the challenges that are to come, nor the politics. You _are_ known, and so is the legacy of the Riders. People _will_ ask for favours; they _will _demand you help them. Old men will ask you who to give their inheritance to, young ladies will ask you who they should marry, and more. You must be wise, and you must rely on the wisdom of your friends, and you must be fair, and just, and kind. Do not fear your youth, but do not become arrogant. That is all, for now."

They bowed, and left.

Elrond arrived at a large stone entrance. The guard knocked on the door. They waited, and the guard stood still, though obviously nervous. Elrond stood impassively beside him. At last, the door opened, revealing a young lady, in her twenties. She scowled at the guard.

"No one's allowed in," she hissed.

"Lord Ajihad has allowed this man to assist you," said the guard.

The lady looked to Elrond, and blanched. "Apologies, my lord," she fumbled, doing a curtsey. "We didn't expect an Elf to come and help us."

"Nor did you have any need," reassured Elrond. "I will help in my own ways, while you and your healers continue as you are."

"Yes, my lord," said healer. She ushered him in, and a very perplexed guard left.

"Inform me of this process, for it is new to me," commanded Elrond, coming upon the elf. Her face was hidden, but he could see the wounds. Once the healer summarised the healing process, and explained they were nearing the end, but that there is still a large chance for failure, Elrond told them to continue as they are. "I will make certain she lives, and heal her wounds."

The healers nodded, and continued as they were. When Elrond moved forward to heal her, he saw her face. He stiffened. She looked similar to his daughter, Arwen. Though, when he continued to look, he could see that there were many differences. She was far younger looking, and her face was hardened, even unconscious, and the light of the Eldar was not in her. Nevertheless, the similarity was there. Without wasting another moment, he poured his knowledge and his power into the work. The work was finished before midday.

When Elrond sensed that she had awoken, he was in another room, reading a book on the history of the dwarves in Alagaësia. He put the book down, and moved into the healing room. He saw her moving to rise from her bed.

"Please, do not rise," he said. She spun around to look at him, then her eyes opened in shock. "Welcome back to the Varden, Arya Egg-courier. I am Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Rivendell, though you would likely not have heard of it, for it is very far away."

Arya could not find the words to speak. She rose and bowed.

"Please, do not bow. You should lay back down. I shall order food and books for you. As a healer, I suggest you rest for a while now, to make certain the poison is out of your body."

Arya rose, but she did not move back to the bed. "You healed me?" she asked, confused. She had not seen any elf like this, for he was certainly elven. But there was something, a glow, that was beyond anything the Ancient language had been recorded to achieve. But there had not been an Elf in Farthen Dûr besides her and her guards for decades.

Elrond smiled. "I arrived near the end of your healing. I merely kept you stable, and healed your wounds."

"Well, I am grateful for your help, nonetheless," said Arya. "Could you tell me of where you hail, so that I might have something to do while I rest?"

"I should not think so," said Elrond. "You need to rest. You seem to be quick to recover, so tomorrow you can seek me if you wish, and we can spend time talking of our homes. However, I can have food and drink brought to you."

"That is most kind of you, Lord Elrond," said Arya.

With that, Elrond left. He found a Dwarf, who looked decidedly unhappy about another Elf being in the mountain, but lightened somewhat up when Elrond complemented Tronjheim, comparing it to the great Dwarven realms in the days of yore, and soon pointing him to where the cooks were, and where Gandalf would have had a room. Soon, Elrond sent food and drink to Arya, and had found Gandalf, who was studying a map of Alagaësia in a large, well lit room. He looked up and saw Elrond.

"Ah, Lord Elrond," he said. "What troubles you?"

Elrond smiled. Gandalf was a mysterious figure, even for him, akin to the Lady Galadriel. He was insightful, and either straight to the point, or like a long, winding road, whichever suited his needs. It seems he would have to be direct as well. "Gandalf, do you know of any way back to Middle-Earth?"

"No, I fear not," confessed Gandalf. "Alas, the existence of other worlds, although known among the Valar, was a topic of little discussion. Few among the Maiar knew of the fact. This little I remember from Valinor. It appears we are stuck here until an opportunity arises for us to return."

Elrond nodded, silent. "What do you make of Tronjheim?" he asked after a while.

"It seems an excellent city," replied Gandalf. "Not unlike the city Erebor, though slightly lesser. I imagine we must use this moment of peace and quiet wisely. I do not think it will last very long."

Elrond sighed. "Very well then. Can you tell me much of this… new world?"

"Not much," answered Gandalf, a bit disappointed. "I can tell you a little, but you and I must still seek the deeper narrative." And so, Gandalf told Elrond what he knew, which was not much. Elrond sighed, definitively tired at the prospect of another war, and decided to go to the library. Gandalf agreed to go with him.

There they sat in silence, reading the texts and scrolls that were available to them. To Elrond's disappointment, there was nothing on the Elves, and the Dwarves were secretive about their language, though not as strict as the Dwarves of Middle-Earth. He soon found their runic alphabet, and a dictionary, and set about familiarizing himself with it. The day passed by without much noise in the library, as it was large, as large as the library of Imladris, although less full. There was history there, and Elrond and Gandalf took it upon themselves to familiarise themselves with at least a little, so that they would not wonder about the importance of some events. While they were there, a man came and informed Elrond of where he would be staying, and where the baths were. Night fell, eventually, and Gandalf and Elrond had gone through a good deal of books on a shelf. Gandalf took out his pipe, and began to smoke.

After a few puffs, he turned to Elrond and asked, "What do you think of the boy?"

Elrond was silent for a moment, pondering. He had not given much thought to the boy, Eragon, being chiefly concerned with healing the egg-courier Arya. But now casting his thoughts back, he felt that there was a power within the boy. It was unsimilar to anything he had seen before in Arda, save perhaps for the Ainur, and Glorfindel. But they were mightier than he, and, save for Glorfindel, alien to all but the Elves that dwelt with them in the Undying Lands.

"He seems to be powerful," he said at last. "He appears to wield great power in him, the potential of which he has not fully discovered yet."

"That is my thought, too," said Gandalf, silently. "I told you about our first meeting, Lord Elrond. I did not mention this, though: when we first met, and we fought off the slavers, he spoke a single word, one that seemed imbued with power, and fire came from his hands. Later, as we rode to the Varden, he spoke to me about a language, known simply as the Ancient Language. It appears to be tied to the magic of this realm, or more rightly, the magic of this world is tied to the language. Possibly. Unfortunately, I have not had much time to study much of this world, so I cannot rightly say."

Gandalf was silent, then, and they sat there for a time, thinking. At last, Elrond rose.

"Well, I shall take your advice, Mithrandir," he said.

"Hm?" muttered Gandalf, curious, although not altogether present.

"I am going to use the peace and quiet wisely, and take a bath," explained Elrond with a smile, which turned into a quiet, tired chuckle, which was joined by Gandalf.

Early the next morning, Orik roused Elrond from his waking sleep, explaining that King Hrothgar wished to see him. He donned robes he found in a cupboard, finding that they fit hem well. He followed Orik down many impressive halls, and struck up a conversation with him, learning a little of the history of the Dwarves here. It seemed that the Dwarves of Alagaësia were as secretive and distrustful of Elves as the ones in Arda. He turned the conversation towards crafting and metalwork. This caused Orik to open up, if only slightly. He seemed shocked at Elrond's knowledge. The two of them went back and forth, trading what they knew of mining and metalwork and crafting and sculpting.

At last, they came before the giant doors of the throne room of King Hrothgar.

"Well, I have to go seek Eragon and Saphira, they have a meeting with the King as well," said Orik.

"Of course," said Elrond, cheerfully. "I shall have to seek you out later, friend Orik, so we may continue our conversation."

"Aye, it seems I misjudged you, Elrond. If all the Elves of your homeland are like you, I would be honoured to visit it," Orik said. He turned and left, going past Gandalf as he did.

"Ah, lord Elrond," greeted Gandalf, stopping by him.

"Gandalf," Elrond responded, cheerfully. They turned, and saw Gandalf's escort open the doors to the throne room. "Shall we greet the king."

"We shall," said Gandalf, entering. Elrond went in just after him.

**Hello all. Sorry it's so terribly late. Enjoy, and please comment and give me advice and your ideas.**


	4. Strange Encounters and Answered Question

Strange encounters and answered questions

Gandalf and Elrond walked through the massive doors, and into the throne room of King Hrothgar. The Dwarf King had a gold crown, set with rubies, upon his head. He wore a fur-lined cloak, and mail. In his right hand was a large hammer. His eyes were like flint, and his face was grim; it bore the weathering of the centuries. They observed on either side of them great statues, undoubtedly of formers kings, of which they counted forty one. At last, they came before the throne. Gandalf raised his staff.

"Hail, Hrothgar, King under the Mountain," he said. The words stung a little, at the memory of another such King.

Elrond, for his part, smiled, and bowed. "Hail, King Hrothgar. It is an honour to meet you."

The dwarven king stirred. "Indeed. And it is an honour to meet you, Elrond of Rivendell, and Gandalf the Grey. I have yet to meet so fair an Elf, and so powerful, should the reports be true, a wizard." His voice was gravely, and reminded Elrond and Gandalf of older Dwarf kings.

They were silent for a time, and Hrothgar it seemed tried to see through them, and pierce the veils. But at last he gave up.

"Ajihad tells me you claim both to be from another realm," he said at last. "Why do you claim that? How can you be from another world?"

Gandalf and Elrond thought of how to answer this. At length Gandalf spoke.

"To tell you the full story would take far too long, and I do not remember much of it, I'm afraid. But my memory is long, as is Lord Elrond's. All I say is that there _are_ other worlds, or at least one other. Arda it is named, or Middle-Earth. Lord Elrond and I come from Middle-Earth. How we came to be here is a question I have not yet any answer to."

"And there is one key difference," said Elrond when Gandalf was finished, "Which sets Alagaësia apart from Arda."

Hrothgar raised a rather bushy eyebrow. "Oh? And what is that?"

"In all of its history, recent and distant, never have there ever been what one might call a good dragon. Nay, all dragons of Middle-Earth are of a disposition towards evil, for that is their nature, since birth." Elrond's voice was grave, and there was a hint of sorrow, which Hrothgar, who was now silent, did not detect.

Hrothgar was silent for a time, thinking hard. Then he spoke, "And what is Middle-Earth like, Gandalf? Lord Elrond? What part do you two play in it?"

Gandalf turned to Elrond. The Elf-lord gathered his thoughts, before speaking.

"Middle-Earth is many things," he began. "It fair, yet for most of my kind it is dying. Rich is its history, full of terrors unnameable, and regrets unforgettable. Elves there are, and Dwarves also, and Men. It is lesser than what it once was, in more ways than one. I am the master of Rivendell, or Imladris. It is homely place, and many of my kin come by there, as they travel to the west, to the Undying Lands."

"And you, Gandalf?" Hrothgar turned to the old wizard.

Gandalf sighed. "It is a long and difficult tale, but I will try to keep it brief. In Arda, there is an evil known as Sauron. He is the greatest threat of the Second and Third Ages. I was sent thither from the Undying Lands, from Valinor, in order to aid the free peoples of Middle-Earth, offering guidance and counsel wherever I may. I cannot say much more than that."

Hrothgar again thought this over. These names and lands meant nothing to him. He was no lore master, but he knew his history well enough, and the lands of Alagaësia. He did not show his confusion. "And what are the relationships between Dwarves and Elves?"

Elrond frowned. "Alas, there is little love lost between Khazad and the Eldar. Once we were great friends, in particular the Noldor, and the world was better then. But a rift was formed, and much blood was spilled needlessly. Yet, for a time, new friendships were formed, and long there was a great enrichment between our two peoples. Alas, that was long ago, and we have not remade friendships since, though I have recently aided a company of dwarves to reclaim their home, so perhaps in time new friendships will be formed."

Gandalf spoke up again. "The Dwarves of Middle-Earth were ever the greatest miners and crafters and shapers of metal. Few amongst the Elves could match them, as they were taught by the Valar Aulë, the Smith."

At that, the three were silent. Hrothgar thought this over. His face, just as Gandalf and Elrond's, was unreadable.

At length, Hrothgar spoke again. "I know not the importance of that name. But that matters little right now. Now that you are here, what do you wish? In the western lands you will find the Elves of Alagaësia, though they are not quite as you are, lord Elrond. Do you wish to join them? And what of you, Gandalf?"

Elrond and Gandalf shared a look. Then Elrond spoke up.

"For now, Gandalf tells me it would be wise to stay in waiting here, in Farthen Dûr. And indeed, I would deem it wise as well, if only to learn what I can in these great halls, of crafting, of languages, and of history. For much is here that I do not have knowledge of, and I feel much as I did in the First Age of Middle-Earth, even if my joy is tainted by fears of what may happen in Middle-Earth without my presence, much as my joy in learning was tainted by my unfortunate circumstances then. And Gandalf has seldom been wrong.

"But do not think I would stay here and only take in knowledge. For I have spoken at length with one of the dwarves, Orik, who has been pleasant company on the way hither, and we have learnt that there is much I know of crafting and metalwork that the Dwarves of Alagaësia do not, and I would be fain to share it, and much else that your people might ask."

Hrothgar smiled at this. But it was brief, and vanished. He turned his gaze to Gandalf. "And what of you, Gandalf? Why do say it is wise to stay?"

"As Lord Elrond, I too would be glad to learn and to teach here," Gandalf answered. He stepped forth. "For there is much I have not seen before, and much I do not know. Yet that is not my chief reason. I would council you, King Hrothgar, to ready your kingdom for battle. Send out your scouts."

"And why do you council this, Gandalf the Grey?" asked Hrothgar, surprised at the sudden turn of conversation, though he kept it hidden. "None have ever breached Farthen Dûr before. Few know where it lies. Do you perhaps have knowledge of Galbatorix's mind?"

"No. But I have long strived against evil," began Gandalf, "and after many long years, I know well the minds of Men. And your enemy has had many years to determine where to send his armies, and now he knows all the better." Gandalf strode forth again. "King Hrothgar, Galbatorix sent out Kull and Urgals to fight the Dwarves and the Varden. But they were almost certainly but a small force compared to what they are mustering now. When they do not report to their lord, he will know for certain he has hit near his mark. I cannot say for certain how much time we have, ere Galbatorix's army invades. So, I beg of thee, send out scouts. Search in all the lesser travelled places of the mountain. Prepare for a battle."

Hrothgar considered this for a moment. "You speak with much certainty. How do you know what you claim to know?"

"King Hrothgar," interrupted Elrond, stepping forth, "once before have I ignored the councils of Gandalf the Grey. It has possibly put all of Middle-Earth at risk. Throughout all the long millennia he has ever been wise. He has ever given council to the kingdoms of Middle-Earth, and in all his long years saved them from destruction."

Hrothgar was silent for a long time, thinking things through. He was given pause at the word millennia. Whoever these beings were, they were wise, and truthful. When he spoke again, it was as one confused but determined. "Very well, Gandalf the Grey, and Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I shall heed your advice. You may stay here, and while you are here you shall teach, and you shall learn. Go now, and do so, and if what you have told me is true, you shall be named Dwarf-friends, the first Elf in many centuries, and the first Man in many more."

At that, Gandalf and Elrond bowed, and left. Outside of the halls, they came across Eragon, Saphira, and Orik, who had just arrived.

"Ah, Saphira, Eragon, and Orik!" said Gandalf. "It is good to see you this fine morning. When you have finished, perhaps you would join us in the Library for a talk. No doubt there is much to discuss." With that, Gandalf left, not letting them reply.

Elrond smirked. "I must agree with Gandalf. We have not yet finished our conversation regarding the proper way to "enchant" a jewel, friend Orik."

Orik grinned. "Aye, I've yet to teach you how it's properly done. I'll meet you in the Library, friend Elrond."

The two laughed, and Elrond left to join Gandalf.

Catching up to Gandalf, Elrond asked, "Well Gandalf, what do you propose we do now?"

"Now, all we can do is wait, and learn, and teach," answered Gandalf.

After a long walk, they arrived at the Library. They spent a long while reading about history, and trying as they could to know more of the Dwarven language. Elrond also read on plants and their effects.

They did not do much of either before they were interrupted. Gandalf was replacing a book in its place, when in the corner of his eye he saw two quite unwelcome figures. The twins had come again. He stuffed the book back in its place, and turned to face the pair.

"Well, what is it you want? Speak quickly," he commanded. The twins started, and the one that examined Gandalf flinched the worst. The quickly gathered themselves. Gandalf's eyes pierced them.

"It seems we got off to a bad start," began the sound twin. "I must apologize."

"Indeed, we must make amends," agreed the other, seemingly healed completely, though he still leaned on the walking-stick.

"Is that so? And how do you intend to do so?" asked Gandalf, not forgetting for a moment the twin's manners at their meeting.

The sound twin spoke. "We understand you wish to know of the Ancient Language. We know much of the Ancient Language."

"And what is the price? Knowledge from me?" asked Gandalf.

The twins looked to each other, somewhat surprised that Gandalf was so perceptive.

"If you would be inclined to share some small knowledge of your world, we would be most obliged," said the sound twin.

Gandalf boomed, drawing himself upright, perceiving their intent. "Bald fools! Do you think yourselves subtle? I have uncovered the lies and machinations of far subtler beings than you. Do not think I have forgotten your actions at the waterfall, _Egraz Carn_? Begone, ere I feel inclined to turn you both into toads!"

In anger and indignation, the twins drew themselves up.

"Very well," the sound one hissed. "But when you require aid and information, do not look to us." They spun around, and stalked off. Elrond passed them on his way to Gandalf.

"What happened here, my old friend?" he asked.

"Some pitiful fools thinking they can worm their way into my knowledge like some common apple."

Elrond smiled, knowingly. "I imagine there is a story behind your anger, my friend."

"There is," Gandalf said simply, and did not elaborate. He picked out another book from the shelf, which seemed to be in regard to spirits. Elrond simply smiled. If Gandalf did not want to elaborate, he would not.

A long while they read after, until at last they saw Eragon and Orik come near. Elrond welcomed them to their table.

"Ah, Elrond, Gandalf," greeted Orik, glad to see Elrond again. "We must now finish our conversation."

"Indeed, I have yet to prove myself right," agreed Elrond. He and Orik chuckled.

Gandalf and Eragon chuckled quietly to themselves. Gandalf invited Eragon over.

"Come, my boy," he said, taking out a pipe. Elrond and Orik were talking about the enchanting of jewels. "We should visit Murtagh today, I think."

"Yes! I've almost forgotten about him," exclaimed Eragon.

"It is to be expected," said Gandalf, beginning to smoke. "Nevertheless, we should visit him." He was silent then, and peered at Eragon. "You seem troubled. Why?"

Eragon shifted. "I… I did something yesterday that I'm unsure of." His gaze did not meet Gandalf's, who was staring at him intently from underneath the brim of his hat.

"Yes?" pressed Gandalf.

"An old lady came up to me today," began Eragon slowly, "and asked me to bless her child. I didn't know what to do, but a thought came into my mind to put a particular spell on the child. A spell of protection. And I am certain I've done the right thing but… I just have this strange feeling. I talked to Saphira, and she says I've done the right thing. She even gave the child a mark like my gedwëy ignasia. And yet..."

"Hmm," Gandalf murmured, thinking of what to say. The gedwëy ignasia must be the silver scar on his hand. He had been rather curious about it, as it lingered in the wizards eye whenever the boy was around, though he had not yet an opportunity to ask about it. He decided to ask later.

"You did what you believed to be best, did you not?" he asked, and Eragon nodded. "And acted with the best of your knowledge, no?" Eragon nodded once again, looking up. "Then until we know more, dispel these doubts from your mind. They will not avail you. Maybe this will return to haunt you, and it may be that you have done a very good thing. Who could tell, until we know more? Many are the strange chances of the world, and all one can say for certain is that this will most likely return, for good or for ill. Even the very wise can see only so far, without more knowledge."

Eragon nodded, and it seemed to him that his fears and doubts burned away, and a kindly flame was lit in his heart, and he felt better than he had in quite some time.

"Thank you, Gandalf," he said, earnestly.

"Any time, my boy, any time," said Gandalf, cheerfully. Then his voice dropped low. "Also, a word of warning. The twins: we should be very careful about them. They seem to have ill-intent for all. Why the Varden permitted them entrance alone is a mystery to me. I suspect they will come to talk to you like they did me, and they will seek to make amends and teach you about the Ancient Language. But they will attempt to take knowledge from you as well. Do not let them!"

Eragon nodded, his eyes fierce. "I understand."

With that, Gandalf sat back in his chair, and opened up his book. "Well, find a book. There is much knowledge here. I suggest starting with the Dwarven alphabet. Most books and scrolls here are in the language, or rather a branch of that language, since they seem to keep their language quite secret. There are a few small books on the subject, but that is all. It seems there are many similarities between the Dwarves of Middle-Earth and Alagaësia."

Eragon nodded at this, and went off to find a book. Soon he returned, but as he did, the twins did too. Annoyance and ill-will in their eyes, they stopped by the table.

"Ajihad would have you tested tomorrow, Eragon, and you too Gandalf and Elrond," they said, venom in their last voice. "And we have a proposition to offer you."

Gandalf stiffened, but did not speak up. He would have to let Eragon decide for himself. Elrond narrowed his eyes, a cold light in them, but he was also silent.

"Okay," said Eragon, anger ever-so-slightly visible on his face. "And what is your proposition?"

The undamaged one spoke. "Firstly, an apology, Eragon. We acted rashly." Eragon's eyes narrowed, but he did not speak. "We wish to teach you some of what we know, in order to apologise properly. This brings into our second proposition. There is a group of magicians and wizards in the Varden known as the Du Vrangr Gata."

The hobbled one spoke up. "But we are pitifully few, and our knowledge limited in some areas, and the addition of a Dragon Rider would be an immense addition to our forces."

Eragon could take no more, and revealed his true anger. "Do you take me for a fool? You want nothing more than to take from me what knowledge Brom gave me. It must've angered you when you couldn't steal it from my mind. You shan't have it!"

The twins narrowed their eyes, and thinned their lips. "You should be more careful of how you speak to us," hissed the one with the cane. "We shall be the ones who test you tomorrow. And that can be most unpleasant."

The sound one spoke, with no less venom in his voice than his twin. "We shall let you think it over. Tomorrow, we shall test you. Make sure you choose rightly." With that, they turned and left. Eragon was reminded eerily of the Ra'zac.

A while later, and Orik and Eragon had left for the Dragon hold. A while after their leaving, Elrond rose, and told Gandalf he was off to see how Arya faired. Gandalf bid him farewell, and stayed a while longer.

* * *

While he was reading a particularly interesting book on Dwarf traditions, a young seeming lady came up to him, and sat on the chair just next to him. She was short, with brown curly hair, and had an air of secrecy about her. She had a short sword on her hip. Her eyes were keen, and excitement twinkled in them.

"I was wondering where you were," she said.

"Indeed? And why is that?" asked Gandalf, cautiously. There was a strange power about her, akin to and yet very much unlike his own, if only very slightly lesser.

"Well, I heard there were a couple strangers from another world, and one of them basically left one of the twins braindead, and I just had to see them for myself," said the lady. She leaned in closer. "So, what's your name?"

"I have many names," Gandalf replied. "Gandalf, I am known to most. Mithrandir, to the Elves of my land, and Olórin in the furthest west. Incánus in the south, and to the Dwarves of my land Tharkûn. I look forward to what names I earn here. And what is yours? You seem a most interesting person. I did not know word spread so quickly."

"Oh, word spreads quickly when you know who to listen to," she said flippantly.

"Indeed, they do," mused Gandalf. The young lady paused, only for a moment, and her keen eyes gleamed ever brighter.

"As for my names," she continued, "for now, you can call me Angela. The Elves here call me by a title, and not an actual name, but the Urgals called me Uluthrek."

"Do they? You've walked amongst them, then, the Urgals?" he asked, ever more intrigued. This revelation added a new depth to the mystery.

"Yes, and you should know," she leaned in closer, and her voice grew colder and her eyes shone with a new light. Her façade lowered, only a bit, "that this isn't normal. Something is amiss with Urgals. They're a war loving race, yes, but that term is misused. Battle loving, perhaps, skirmish loving, rather. But wars? And a great host of Kull running across the entire Hadarac desert? Something's off. Very off. I don't know what it is yet."

This was a new development. Angela, whoever she might be, seemed certain of this fact. And if they could get to the source of whatever was wrong with the Urgals, then perhaps they could stop a great deal of bloodshed. But Gandalf was curious about her knowledge of this matter.

"You know this? How?" he asked, not unkindly, though not in a manner that brooked much argument.

"Like you said," she began answering, "I've walked amongst them. Good friends, if a bit violent, but hardy and honourable. Don't try the alcohol, though. It's possible that Galbatorix offered them something. Land, a steady supply of people to kill, who knows? But what I've heard? All this travelling around, pillaging, wiping out entire villages? Something's off. Far beyond simple agreements."

"And why come to tell me?" asked Gandalf, quietly. Their voices had become but a whisper.

"Because you're the only one around here that would listen, save Elrond perhaps. You're the only one who isn't completely biased against them already," explained Angela. "And because you seem to be very wise."

Gandalf muttered quietly, drawing himself back. Then he wondered something.

"Do you think there is enough time to find out what is happening with the Urgals and stop it?"

Angela sighed. "I don't know. Which is a surprising problem for me. But in all honesty, I think you should stay here, even if there was time, it'll be extremely difficult. The Varden will need your wisdom before the war."

"Then you believe war is coming soon?" asked Gandalf.

"Definitely," answered Angela. "There's a Dragon Rider about. You of all people should know how these things are."

"I do indeed. And what is your role in all of this?" asked Gandalf, curious.

Angela laughed. "Oh, I like to be where the action is. There hasn't been much of that in a long while, so when Eragon came by in Teirm—"

"You know Eragon?" interjected Gandalf.

"Yes, I showed him his fortune," answered Angela, continuing quickly. "Anyway, I knew that something was afoot, and the Dwarves and the Varden would be the best place to be. So, I closed up shop and came here, quickly as I could."

Gandalf smiled. "And what is it you did?"

"I'm a witch," she said, causing Gandalf to start.

"A witch?" asked Gandalf, confused, and concerned. How could she be a witch? "I take it the title of 'witch' means something far different to what it means in my lands."

"I don't know. What does it mean there? What is there called, by the way, I haven't heard."

"Oh, yes, it's called Middle-Earth," said Gandalf. "And over there, witches are beings of great and terrible power; they are chiefly servants of Sauron, though there are some that are self-serving. What are witches here?"

This stunned Angela, ever so slightly, though she did not show it. She smiled. "Witches here are nothing so impressive," she said. "All we do is mix herbs with magic, to varying results, though some of the more skilled can cast a small spell or two without herbs or plants. I myself sold a few potions."

She spoke with a voice that veiled her true nature, but in the way that let one know she was concealing it, which Gandalf picked up on.

"You should speak with Lord Elrond," he said. "He has many skills in regard to herbs and plants, particularly in the art of healing."

"Indeed?" murmured Angela. "I'll have to find him."

There was a silence, for a while. Then Angela stood up, somewhat suddenly.

"Well, I've got to go," she said. "I've got some shopping to do, and I want to make certain I don't run into those miserable twins."

"You have difficulty with them too?" asked Gandalf, chuckling.

"Yes, they keep asking me to join their pathetic little club," she snarled. Gandalf chuckled quietly at that. "I must say though, I quite like the way you dealt with one of them. I should like to give them the same treatment, but they already fear what would happen to them."

Gandalf and Angela shared a grim laugh. "Well, fair well, dear Angela," he said. "I am glad to have made your acquaintance."

Angela smiled. "And you, Gandalf," she replied. "I look forward to talking to you another time. Maybe I'll tell you about a particular tale of mad rabbits."

Gandalf's eyebrows raised. "I'd be most delighted to hear it." And with that, she left, and Gandalf stayed to read a bit, thinking to go later to Murtagh.

* * *

Sometime earlier, Elrond had left to the healers' chambers, to accompany the Egg-Courier Arya. He reached them, after some directions from a man, who stumbled over his words a bit at seeing Elrond.

However, upon arriving there, the healer that had greeted him yesterday told him, with only a little less stumbling herself, that Arya had left in search of him only a few moments earlier, and uncertain of his whereabouts, went to the training fields. Elrond asked directions, and left hastily in search of her.

He walked with a speed that, upon noticing, confused him. He suspected it was because he was reminded of his daughter in this Arya, and his fatherly nature had taken over. She seemed young, at least by the standards of elves in Middle-Earth. He had no idea what constituted as young or old in this new world.

Another thing prompted him, and that was that he had promised to talk to her about Middle-Earth. There was much that they could talk about, and it was impolite to break such a promise, even though it was not particularly binding.

Some moments later, and Elrond found Arya. It was easy, the moment he went by people who had seen her. Hushed whispers from Men about an elf passing by grew into frantic whispers, wondering who this elf was, so fair and majestic. Elrond ignored them, save to use as directions.

He caught up to her, as she looked around the fields, searching. He called out her.

"Lady Arya," he called. She spun around to face him, before walking towards him. "I am fortunate I managed to find you. You wished to know of my home, I believe."

"That is correct, lord Elrond," she said, moving to bow. He raised a hand to stop her.

"Please, do not bow. I am not truly a lord in my own realm, and certainly not here."

She rose, uncertainly. "There is an empty plain further down," she said, pointing to an empty patch.

They walked in silence to the plain. Soon they were beyond the ears of mortal beings.

"If I may ask, lady Arya," began Elrond, as soon as they came upon the patch, "how old are you? If it is not too personal, or too difficult."

"Of course, lord Elrond," said Arya, her voice rather musical. "I am one hundred and two years."

"I see," said Elrond, his suspicions confirmed. One hundred years! That was very young indeed. Elves in Middle-Earth would have come of age only fifty-two years ago. "You are very young, then?"

"Yes, lord Elrond," answered Arya. There was a silence, before she asked, "If I may, how old are you?"

"The Eldar of Arda have do not count the years as the race of Men do, for time to us flows both fast and slow, and blends together. But the closest estimate, I suppose, is some six thousand years, give or take some years."

"Six thousand!" gasped Arya. That was older than any elf alive, possibly in history. Rhunön alone was older than the Dragon Riders, and not even she was that old!

"Roughly," said Elrond, confused at her surprise, as he was not the oldest Elf in Middle-Earth, and much less the oldest elf in all of Arda.

"Forgive me, lord Elrond," said Arya, regaining her composure. "I am afraid I was caught off guard. None of the Eldar here have lived to such an age. It seems we have not yet earned that title. Indeed, the eldest of the elves of Alagaësia has lived for roughly two and half thousand years old."

Elrond's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The elves here were young by his standards. The youngest eves he knew, prince Legolas, Thranduil's son, and his own daughter Arwen were roughly that age, if he was correct. The thought of the oldest elf being only a little older than one of the youngest elves he knew was a startling thought.

"If I may, lady Arya, how come the Eldar of Alagaësia to be so young?" he asked. "I fear I have had little time to read of the history of this world, and there is none of the history of the elves in the Dwarven halls."

"Over two millennia ago, dragons and elves lived separately," began Arya. "The elves thought the dragons to be little more than beasts. In those days, we were no more immortal than humans. We were much akin to humans. One of the elves killed a dragon. In retaliation, the dragons waged war upon the elves. The elves fought in defence, first, but soon were forced to attack. Those who were there said it rained blood.

"It came to pass that a young elf, Eragon the first, came across a dragon egg. He hid it, and raised it, and they formed a bond. He became the first Shur'tugal, the first Dragon Rider. They forged a peace between the two races, and created a magical pact. The dragons would give two or three eggs, and they would bond with an elf. They would be trained and become the Shur'tugal, and would keep the peace. They became scholars, philosophers, keepers of the peace, and more. The elves gave the dragons language, and the dragons gave the elves immortality and magic. This is the reason we are so young, though we have never thought ourselves young."

"I see. You have a most interesting history," said Elrond. There was a pause, before he spoke again. "I apologise. I have promised to tell you of my world, but have made you speak of your own. What do you wish to know? Middle-Earth has a complex history, and I fear the day would pass into the night before we finished even half of it."

Arya paused for a while. She had not really given it much thought. Then she had a thought.

"What is Rivendell like?" she asked.

Elrond smiled. "Rivendell, or Imladris, is the Last Homely House, East of the Sea. It is a place of resting, and of knowledge, and many pass through it, for learning and for peace, though not all know of where it lies, especially amongst the race of Man. For many of the Elves, it is a place of resting, before they leave at last for Valinor."

Arya turned to him. "What is Valinor?"

Elrond smiled wistfully. "Valinor is the home of the Elves. In the first age of the world, the Eldar were brought to Valinor, the Undying Lands, alongside the Valar and Maiar, the Powers of Arda. Once, the Elves lived there in peace. But mistrust and doubt were sown in their minds. I was not yet born, but I have heard of its beauty in song, and have read of it, and I have seen paintings, which older Elves have done in memory.

"The Noldor, of who I am a part of, left Valinor, and were led by Fëanor. They committed a horrifying crime. They took part in the first kin-slaying, and were banished. I count myself blessed that I was not born then, and rather nearer to the end of the First Age."

Elrond was silent for a time, and they walked quietly. At last, Arya asked another question.

"Who are the Valar and Maiar?" she inquired.

Elrond thought for a while. "The Valar and Maiar are race of beings known as the Ainur. Though my knowledge of them is limited, as I was not born during the days of the Two Trees, when the Eldar walked amongst them, I learnt of them in song. They were born before time, from the thoughts of Eru Ilúvatar, the One, and they created the world.

"The Maiar are of a lesser order than the Valar, of whom there are fourteen. Once there were fifteen, Morgoth, but he is no longer counted amongst them. There is Manwë, who is mightiest and closest to Eru. He is the lord of the wind and sky, and all things that have wings belong to him. His spouse is Varda, who made the stars. It is she the Elves love and revere the most, as when they awoke, they saw first the stars. There is Ulmo, who is said to live in every river and every ocean…"

Elrond spoke then for a while, listing off the Valar and Valier, and what they did. Arya found it interesting, because she believed this to be merely a creation myth, and the Elves here had no belief in Gods or any such deities. She wondered why the Elves in Arda did.

At last, Elrond ended his answer, speaking of Nessa, the Dancer. Arya was immensely fascinated by his answer, and commented on it.

"This is most intriguing… Elrond," she said, having some difficulty with the informality. "The Elves here have no myths about creation."

"Myth?" asked Elrond, turning suddenly. "It is hardly a myth, Arya. The Ainur are quite real. I have seen the Valar, at the end of the First Age of the world, and in the Second Age I fought in a war against a Maiar who was corrupted in the beginning, in the Timeless Halls. Even now, though we had victory then, we are hard pressed to keep his forces at bay, for we have learnt that he has awoken, and returned. Sauron, his name is."

Arya was silent for a moment, and could not so easily fathom what she heard. This was far to bizarre, and she had seen many bizarre things in her, admittedly short, life. Gods and angels? Primordial entities from timeless halls? It was, in short, impossible. And yet…

"Forgive me, but I confess I do not believe you," she said, respectfully. "The Elves of Alagaësia have oft tried and failed to find any evidence of any beings one might call a god or deity."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"And I hope I do not seem rude," continued Arya, going to great lengths to contain her nervousness. "But, can you perhaps tell me of some of the evidence?" When Elrond raised his eyebrow again, she stuttered, and began to blush, bashful under the stern gaze. "I… I'm just… I merely—"

Elrond smiled, and his eyes softened. "I understand your plight, lady Arya. I would be fain to share my knowledge. But Mithrandir, Gandalf, may be able to offer you better answers to your questions."

"Indeed?" wondered Arya. Elrond nodded. Then Arya thought of an idea. "My lord, I am unsure of how it is in your home world, but here, it is possible to read and share memories."

"Indeed? It is same where I am from, or at least similar," said Elrond. "If you wish, I can share some memories from my world."

"I would be honoured, my- Elrond," said Arya. Elrond turned to him, his face an indecipherable mask. For a moment, Arya wondered if he would really share his memories.

Then he asked, "How do you initiate it?" His face became softer, and Arya inwardly breathed a sigh of relieve.

"I shall initiate it," said Arya, nervous, despite being adept at it.

"I should warn you, they will not be very pleasant memories. Indeed, they shall be of fear and terror," cautioned Elrond.

"Regardless, master Elrond, I should like to know," replied Arya. They stood still, and Arya sent out her mind.

The very moment Arya's mind contacted Elrond's, she nearly recoiled at the immense weight and sheer depth of the strange Elves mind. It was indeed millennia deeper than any mind she had ever encountered. Elrond's song felt as deep as the ocean, and as complex as history itself. If she did not take care, she, an Elf! could lose herself.

As Arya struggled to grasp the enormity of the alien mind, the mind became clear, and it seemed that, like she was in an ocean, Arya breached the surface, and she could breathe. She struggled to stay afloat, and if she stopped struggling, she felt that she would drown. But in the struggling, she caught glimpses. A lineage; the names Melian, and Luthien. Flashes of beings of great power, and impossible beauty, and unmatched terror. Beings of primordial, ancient, ethereal wisdom. Beings of shadow and flame and cruel intelligence. And later, a being of terrible cunning, and a lust for power. Names rang in her mind. _Sauron. Gorthaur. Lord of Wolves. Deceiver. _They were the same person, or being, she realised. And then… a poem? Softly, quietly, at first, but growing, louder, and deeper. Darker.

_Three rings for the Elven Kings, under the sky_

_Seven for the Dwarf-lords, in their halls of stone_

_Nine for mortal men, doomed to die. _

_One for the Dark Lord, on his dark throne._

_In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie_

_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them_

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,_

_One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them_

_ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul_

_In the land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie._

At that last moment, she threw her mind backwards, recoiling back into the safety and sanity of herself. When she returned, she became aware of herself, finding she was sweating profusely, and breathing heavily. She stumbled, and saw an outstretched hand, which she grabbed a hold of. It held her steady, as she breathed deeply.

Arya looked up, steadying herself, standing upright. She saw that Elrond had not suffered as she had, and remained composed and regal. She saw a great deal of concern in his eyes, however.

"Are you alright, lady Arya?" he asked. She nodded, for some reason not trusting herself to speak. "I apologise. I have not yet needed to share memories, so I fear I may have done something incorrect. All other times I had merely spoken with the other person. So, I apologise for any trouble I have caused you."

Arya shook her head. "No, it is no fault of your own. I am unaccustomed to a mind such as yours. It seemed to be as vast as an ocean." She breathed deeply, stabilising herself some more, and taking the moment to choose her words. "But I certainly believe you, now."

The two Elves were silent then, for a while, and they stood there whilst the wind blew. At last, Elrond broke the silence.

"It would be wise for you to go and rest," he said. "I suspect that this has been a taxing experience. And no doubt you have duties to attend to come the morn. I shall come tomorrow to make certain you are fit enough."

"Of course, lord Elrond," said Arya, bowing in a strange fashion, which Elrond suspected was a tradition. He bowed in turn, and they bid each other fair well. Elrond headed back to the library, for he wished to know more regarding history, and clear his mind.


	5. Murtaghs Frustration

Murtaghs Frustration

"Just holler if ya want out," said the Dwarven guardsman, unlocking the door with a clunky key. Gandalf thanked him, and entered Murtagh's cell.

To call it a cell would be a misnomer. While it was not overly spacious, it was rather lavish, and had room enough for a number of luxuries; there was a desk, on which sat two lit candles, some parchment, and a quill and ink. There was a small bookshelf next to it, holding a few books and scrolls. On a small table next to a bed, there was a platter of crumbs and a goblet. Murtagh lay on the bed, enjoying a scroll of his own.

As soon as Gandalf entered the cell, Murtagh twisted around to face him. "Gandalf," he cried in joy. "I'm so glad to see you. First Nasuada, and now you. This is a magnificent day!"

"Murtaugh!" laughed Gandalf, amazed. "I had not hoped to see you in such a comfortable situation."

"Me neither," said Murtagh, chuckling. "I could hardly believe it myself. I mean, just yesterday I was in some dull, typical cell. But just this morning, a guard came up to me and told me Ajihad wanted me moved to another cell. They probably think I'm no real danger to them. And I probably am not. Still, if I'm not careful, I might grow fat and lazy, what with all these texts and all this food." He and Gandalf laughed.

Gandalf took the stool by the desk, and sat down by Murtagh's bed. "It seems that you have been well taken care of. You say that Nasuada visited you earlier? I do not recognise the name." Murtagh's eyes grew wistful at the name, and it seemed as if a kindly flame was lit within them.

"Ah, then you have not seen the greatest beauty of Farthen Dûr," Murtagh said. "I tell you, I have seen noble ladies in the courts of Galbatorix, who were of the highest order, and they seemed to be more fit for work in the stables, or in the pigsty, compared to her. And she was clever, too. She was well-spoken, and she knew books that few others have read, even amongst the lore-masters of Urû'baen."

Murtagh spoke for some time, complimenting Nasuada, and Gandalf saw him happier than he suspected he had been in a long time. The old wizard smiled.

At last he stopped, and looked at Gandalf embarrassed, when he saw a sly smile on the old wizards' face.

"Sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me." Gandalf laughed merrily.

"No need to apologise, my dear Murtagh, none at all," Gandalf said. "No, I am rather glad to hear you speak so lightly. I am glad to see you be so merry. And in any case, I oft prefer to listen. But you seem to have spoken about the most interesting thing that has occurred for you, so I feel I should tell you about the most interesting thing that has occurred to me.

"I was in the library, but an hour ago, when a young lady, or rather, a lady who seemed young in appearance, came to me. Angela was her name, and she seemed a fountain of helpful information." Gandalf's voice grew low. "She told me that she had once walked amongst the Urgals,."

At once, Murtagh stiffened, and his eyes grew cold. He sat up straighter on his bed. Fear and anger burnt in his eyes.

"You need not be concerned, Murtagh," said Gandalf. "She seems trustworthy enough, and wise. She told me that it is unusual for the Urgals, especially Kull, to be out in such force, and in such a manner. She suspects some evil force hangs over them, I would think."

"There is no evil force over them except their own cruelty and warmongering nature," spat Murtagh.

"You speak from experience, I suppose," said Gandalf. Murtagh nodded.

"I still bare scars from my last encounter."

Gandalf frowned. "I see. Such dealings would inevitably lead to hate. And yet, I cannot help but think that if the cause is found, and the power over them broken, it will change the course of the future tremendously."

"I doubt it," said Murtagh, sour. "The average Urgals alone loves killing in excess. They cannot find a mate without having killed before, and the more kills, the better their chances. But Kull? They are far more vicious, and far larger. They're the elite of all clans. They kill the same type of wolves that left those tracks I found as a coming of age ritual. And some go for even larger targets.

"Kull don't leave for anything short of a great battle, or out of sheer boredom and hunger. It takes five strong men just to kill one of them, and they probably won't make it out alive. Not one of them stand beneath eight feet, and can take arrows being shot at them with mild irritation. They love fighting more than anything, and are merciless. Galbatorix wouldn't _need_ to control their minds, or order Durza to do it for him. He wouldn't even need to offer them anything. All he need do is promise them a great battle."

Gandalf thought about this for a while, fishing out his pipes, and offering one to Murtagh. He lit them, and they puffed it in silence for a time, thinking. He put his hat on the table.

"So, this is common then?" he asked Murtagh. "Wiping out entire villages?"

Murtagh sighed. "No, not really. But it's likely that Galbatorix promised they would be protected from any repercussions."

"I see," muttered Gandalf. "Tell me more about them. You spoke of clans. I suspect a violent race such as theirs would not so quickly get along."

"Not in the least," agreed Murtagh. "They're horrifyingly antagonistic towards one another. It borders on beast-like, and usually crosses over."

Gandalf frowned. The Urgals were clearly many things, and none of them good. But beast-like they were not.

"Humans are often much the same, when it comes to their kingdoms," Gandalf said, with furrowed brows, and his voice was slightly sharp. "So are Dwarves, for that matter, I imagine. I do not know how the Elves here are, but in Middle-Earth, they have a distinct history." Murtagh looked at Gandalf, as though to argue, but closed his mouth. Gandalf and Murtagh sat in silence, smoking.

At last, Gandalf sighed, and blew smoke rings of many different colours. He then blew out a small, red dragon, which flew over to Murtagh and perched on his shoulder. Murtagh frowned, but smiled when it blew a puff of golden smoke at him. The smoke dragon launched off his shoulder, into an explosion of smoke.

"Regardless of either of our thoughts on the matter, you should keep your strength up, young Murtagh," said Gandalf, standing up. "There is much afoot, I suspect. Don't become a lazy scholar just yet."

Murtagh smiled, though it was filled with repressed sorrow. "Certainly, Gandalf, certainly. Thanks for visiting."

"You're quite welcome," said Gandalf. "I think I'll come by tomorrow as well." He turned to the door, and called for the guard, who let him out. He bid Murtagh a good day, and retired to his bed.

* * *

Elrond had gone to the library once again, finding a quiet corner in which to read. He found some history at last regarding the Dragon Riders. Argetlam, the Dwarves called them, meaning Silver Hand in the Ancient Language.

The Ancient Language. He had read mentions of it before, in his earlier studies. Yet nothing more than mentions. He wondered what the languages importance was. It was mentioned to be the language of the Elves, and there appeared to be some tie to it and "magic" in this realm. And yet, despite its apparent importance, Elrond could not find anything of use.

Elrond read on. The history of the Dragon Riders seemed fraught with troubles; they appeared as busy bodies, interfering with matters they seemingly had no business in.

There was, however, many a mention of history with dragons, similar to the problems the Casari, or Khazad, had with dragons, back home. This similar past they shared, and the similarity the two peoples shared with one another, likely led to this feud between them and the Argetlam.

Elrond shut his book, and returned it to its place, plumes of dust scattering as he did. Sighing softly, he found another book; it was about Dwarven customs. He desperately wished to know more about the Shur'tugal, and their history. If he knew, it would lend some insight to the oncoming storm.

However, until the time comes when he can travel to the Elves of Alagaësia, he shall have to be content. Gandalf was right, of course. It would be best to stay here for now. The battle was not the only reason to stay, although he only recently has seen it. The Dwarves and Elves here need to forge allies and friendships anew. He doubted any here would be willing to try. If he were become familiar with the Dwarves, a new alliance, perhaps even a knew friendship, despite the long memories of the two races.

After a time, Elrond finished his book, and replaced it. He searched now for the history of Farthen Dûr, and the making of Tronjheim. Upon finishing some of it, he went to sleep.

Morning came, and Elrond sought out the kitchen. There was some confusion over the meal. The Dwarf, for some reason, gave Elrond only a salad, and was confused when Elrond asked for meat. Fortunately, that mishap was soon cleared up, and Elrond thanked the chef.

After his meal, Elrond made his way to where Arya rested. She was awake, and had an empty platter on the small table beside her bed. On her lap was a book, detailing the many mushrooms that mostly found in Farthen Dûr. She smiled as he walked in.

"Hail, Lord Elrond," Arya greeted. "I am glad to see you once again."

"Hail, Lady Arya," replied Elrond. "You seem rested."

Arya nodded. "I am."

"It is an interesting read," said Elrond, pointing to the book. "I read it in part myself, two nights past." He fell silent for a moment, before he spoke again. "Might I ask how you came to be here, Arya?"

Arya's gaze grew distant, and she was silent for a long time, and Elrond wondered if she would answer. At last though, she did.

"Do you… are you aware of the dragon Saphira?" she asked. Elrond nodded.

"It was her you carried, when she was still in the egg," guessed Elrond. Arya blinked, and nodded.

"I had passed into westernmost area of Du Weldenvarden, accompanied by two guards," she continued, her eyes distant. She sat up straight. "We were not far in, on the outskirts, not close enough for the power of my people to keep us safe. There was an ambush, and my guards were killed suddenly, struck down by many arrows. Were that not enough, a ring of flames encircled me, a spell cast by Durza, a Shade,

"Durza took me captive, but I had time enough to cast a desperate spell, and Saphira's egg was transported far from me. It just so happened that it found Eragon. But I was captured still, in Gil'ead. Durza strove ever to break my mind, to learn what he could of the Elves homes. But I had strength left in me to defy him. He used many methods, not least the poison Skilna Bragh."

The name rang in Elrond's mind. It was a deadly poison that killed its victims within a matter of hours. It's only antidote, Tunivor's Nectar, came from the same mushroom. This was the poison given to her?

"Each day, he would poison me," she continued, her eyes darkening. "At the end, he would give me the Nectar, to ensure I didn't die. He cast illusions, and tortured me. And when nothing worked, I was finally ordered to be sent to the king." Arya's voice grew quiet. "I feared for my life, for if I were sent thither, then the king would know at once where the Elves hide, and he would burn my people's home, and none could stand against him."

Arya sighed, and Elrond saw fear gleam in her eyes. It disappeared quickly, yet it was there, as a shadow of memory.

"It seemed that at around that point, Eragon also was captured," resumed the Elf-maiden. "Though I knew it not, nor who he even was, for I had put myself into a deep sleep, to resist the poison. He managed to escape, and after a time he spoke with me. It was an awkward conversation, to say the least." She pursed her lips, and Elrond saw she felt a tinge of shame.

"He tried to speak with within my mind," Arya said. "I attacked him, for he was strange to my mind, and I had become fearful. At last, we managed to speak, but only for a while, as I had spent too much energy all ready. The next thing I remember, I met you."

Elrond sat in thought for a while. "It is unfortunate we cannot go to Rivendell, Arya, for there you would have time and chance to rest, and your burden lifted, for a while. As is, I suggest still that you rest while you can, and let your mind wander to lighter topics."

Arya shook her head. "I cannot do that, Elrond. For I have many tasks, greatest of all is preparing Eragon and Saphira to leave for Ellesméra, as soon as is possible."

Elrond frowned. "Though this news is expected, I fear you shall have to postpone your journey to Ellesméra." Arya's eyebrows came together in confusion.

"For what reason?" she asked, and her tone was concerned.

_Naturally, _thought Elrond, _for any delay means more time for their foe._

The Elf-lord sighed. "Gandalf foresees a battle shall come to Tronjheim soon. Seldom has Gandalf been wrong on such matters. In Middle-Earth, Gandalf was known throughout the lands as a herald of ill-tidings, to the kingdoms of Men and Dwarves, and he does not come to warn a kingdom if the danger is minor. If Gandalf says a battle is on its way, then a great battle is on its way."

Arya pursed her lips, and looked frustrated. Yet to Elrond there seemed a glimmer of relief, though for what he could not say. She sighed deeply, sat back in thought, and turned her gaze. "I see," she said at last. "I suppose I shall rest a while longer, then I will find Eragon, for I must discuss much with him, and thank him for rescuing me."

With that, Elrond bid his leave of Arya, and quietly placed upon her a small, hasty enchantment to aid her recovery.

Going once more to the library, he found Gandalf, talking to a young, dark skinned lady. They were drinking something. Tea, from the smell, though it was foreign to Elrond. Elrond greeted Gandalf.

"Suilad, Mithrandir," he said. _Greetings, Mithrandir_. Gandalf and the lady turned to greet him. The young ladies' eyes widened in surprise.

"Ai, Hîr Elrond. Mae g'ovannen," said Gandalf in return. _Hail, Lord Elrond. Well met._ Gandalf rose, and gestured to the lady beside him. "Lord Elrond, might I introduce you to Lady Nasuada. Lady Nasuada meet Lord Elrond, Master of Rivendell. Lady Nasuada is the daughter of Lord Ajihad, and, from her tales, she does almost as much work as her father."

Elrond turned an impressed eye towards the young Nasuada, who slightly blushed at the praise, and Elf Lords gaze. "I am honoured to meet you, Lady Nasuada." He bowed.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," said Nasuada, rising and bowing as well. "I have heard all around Tronjheim talk about an Elven lord that seemed to glow. I fear the rumours were grossly understated."

Elrond smiled, and took a seat. The old Istar had managed to befriend another in a position of power. Millennia old habits die hard, of course. The wizard had spent the better part of his time as Gandalf befriending all the leaders of Middle-Earth, or becoming their ally. And yet he also had a habit of befriending many who were not in any position of power, and in fact would be considered unimportant.

After a long, and thoroughly enjoyable discussion (on a variety of intriguing topics, not least of all languages, of which Nasuada spoke three, to varying degrees, and that Dwarven spies had left to search for any signs of Urgals last night, for which Gandalf was glad, though he hoped there was still enough time), Nasuada had bid her leave, stating she had to collect a package. Gandalf and Elrond bid her farewell.

"She is most interesting," commented Elrond to Gandalf.

"Yes," said Gandalf absentmindedly, for his thoughts were now on the matter of the Shade. "Did you speak to Arya again?"

"I did."

"Did she tell you how she came to be here?" asked Gandalf. Elrond nodded. "She spoke of how she was held captive by some creature known as a Shade?"

Again, Elrond nodded. "Durza was his name."

"Was it? interesting. He will be here," said Gandalf, gravely. "I have found little on the subject matter, but if what I have read is true, Eragon, who I don't doubt is his target, will stand little chance against him."

Elrond nodded, and bid Gandalf share with him what he knew of Shades, and was troubled. They seemed creatures of the darkest evil, the cruellest spirits taking over a body. Lesser in power than those dark spirits of Angband, but no less evil, and their power was still great.

"I do not doubt, however," said Gandalf at the end, "That some of these reports are exaggerated, if only a little. The truest part of the book, or the least exaggerated, perhaps, would be the report of the two 'Shadeslayers', who died killing Shades. Once Durza arrives, we three shall need to challenge him together, for that may be the only way Eragon survives."

Elrond's face grew grim. "He will set a trap for Eragon, Gandalf. He will likely lure him to a place only he could get to on time."

"Yes, that is my concern," replied Gandalf. "I wonder where he shall be lured, and how to stay with him, as best I can." He pulled out an old map the side of the table. "I was studying this, before I met Nasuada. There are a number of different tunnels, some larger and some smaller, that lead into Farthen Dûr."

Elrond looked over the map. It was old, but still in good enough condition. He frowned in thought. "If any Urgals are found in time, I suspect that the Varden shall collapse these tunnels," he pointed to a number of tunnels. "They will try and force the Urgals into the larger tunnels, so that they may not swarm into Tronjheim like a nest of ants."

"Yes, I see," said Gandalf. "They will not collapse all of them, of course, but they shall try to make it look like all of them. But there stands the matter of Durza." Gandalf leaned back in his chair. Durza would not waste time with the battle. He would make his way to a far off spot, and lure Eragon there. But how?

The grey wizard sighed, and saw Elrond had similar thoughts. Yet there was no answer clear to them. Perhaps, if Saphira was willing, she could carry them with her. Gandalf decided to go talk to her.

With Elrond, Gandalf headed to where he suspected the Rochben Rovalug, the Dragon Rider, would be. And, more importantly, the Dragon.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review. All reviews and critiques are welcome.**


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